


Outbursts of Brotherly Compassion

by Sherlocked_in_Tejas



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Family Drama, Gen, His Last Vow Spoilers, Past Drug Use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-12
Updated: 2014-05-11
Packaged: 2018-01-15 12:36:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 28,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1305088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlocked_in_Tejas/pseuds/Sherlocked_in_Tejas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post HLV With the threat of Moriarty looming, Sherlock comes back to assist Mycroft in disposing of the problem, with the condition that their sister be allowed to return home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Called Back Home

**Author's Note:**

> Hey Howdy. All rights to ACD and Moffat/Gatiss.

The plane finally stopped and Sherlock opened the hatch as Mycroft shouted at a confused airport attendant to put a staircase against the plane. Sherlock was just as frustrated and leapt dramatically on to the tarmac. John and Mary were striding quickly to meet him only to have Sherlock pass them by, clearly entering a deep train of thought he had started as soon as the plane had started to turn back.  
Sherlock reached the car where Mycroft was making calls one right after the other to various unsuspecting underlings that were feeling his wrath at this situation. Sherlock said nothing to him and entered the back of the car and sat staring off, still wrapped up in his thoughts. Mary and John looked at each other exasperated, looking expectantly at both Holmes brothers and receiving no information about what was going to happen.

John grew impatient at last and before Mycroft could make another call, he interrupted.

“Wait now. Sherlock saw him die. He blew a bloody hole into his brain. It is impossible for a man to survive that. Not even Sherlock could pull that off.”  
Mycroft was far from his usual cool self. His face had ranged from flushed to beet red depending on which insufferable call he had to make, but he went frigid as he replied to John. “Clearly someone is trying to make us believe just that. Now excuse me as I try to manage this crisis that is threatening our country.”

Even in this dire situation, Mary couldn’t help but find Mycroft’s icy response worth a goofy face exchange with her husband. It was enough to give John a marginal lift to his heavy heart.  
“Is anyone going to enter this car so I can save England from a madman, again?” Sherlock’s head popped out of the car door with a clear look of irritation on his face. Mycroft finished his call and motioned for John and Mary to enter the vehicle. When the car made it off the airport property Mycroft broke the silence.

“Brother mine, any grand ideas to this problem?”

Sherlock remained quiet for ten seconds before he responded. “Yes. I need something though.”

“Anything. Even I have superiors and they are expecting me to explain this and solve it now.” Mycroft smirked and John scoffed at his cheekiness at this time.

“I need the transmission recording of Moriarty—multiple copies. There might be differences I need to observe. I want his death report and I need her.”

“Her? She is unavailable. You know this. She can’t enter this country without a national security incident.”

“I believe that you are currently in a national security crisis that you desperately called me back from exile and certain death. You need me to solve this case and I require her assistance.” Sherlock gave his brother a steely stare until Mycroft finally faltered.

“Fine. I’m not in the mood to put up with you and mummy to hound me at another Christmas dinner.”

Sherlock set back in his seat and returned to his thoughts. John meanwhile knew not to try and interrupt him so he turned to Mycroft for his confusion. “Who is she?” 

Mycroft looked annoyed at John for asking. “She is someone I am going to have to call in numerous favours for beyond the ones I will need to force to have my brother back from his sentence. Although having an insane, previously assumed dead man grace every screen in the country to scare them into submission.” 

Sherlock set off on his phone texting intently. Mary took the lull to check her and John’s phones they left in the car for their farewell to Sherlock. She had texts from Molly and John had many from Lestrade and a missed call from Mrs. Hudson. She made quick work of the texts. They mainly contained disbelief that both Watsons had experienced earlier and concern about their whereabouts. She fired off replies that would keep their recipients calm for a moment until Sherlock’s plan could start. When she was finished, she placed her hand on her pregnant belly and firmly grasped her husband’s hand. 

John was pleased to have Mary take hold of his hand. He was brimming with conflicting feelings. Moriarty was back, but so was Sherlock. He just hoped that the price of getting him back would be worth it in the end.


	2. The Ice Man Breaks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holmes brothers brew up a conflict.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing. Every regard to ACD and Moffat/Gatiss/BBC. Danke Danke.

Molly was sitting in the lab stunned with Moriarty’s message going over and over in her head. She was the one who had performed his autopsy. He had come in with a massive whole in his head and half his brain remaining on the roof of Bart’s. Even he something mad had happened, she had removed all his internal organs. She toughed though that procedure with Jim’s eyes staring wide until Sherlock had reached over the slab and shut them when he noticed her quiet rage bubbling as she pulled out his heart and liver. It was a rare moment, him noticing her emotions, but maybe Moriarty’s face had been haunting Sherlock as well.

Today hadn’t been the best to start out with. She had received a text from Sherlock that morning. It had just said “ ** _I am leaving tomorrow for something trivial for Mycroft. Thank you for everything. Be well. SH.”_**  It was simple and passive but it spoke much coming from him. She worried that this “trivial” thing might lead to him being gone for a long time. He had made a few trips back to her flat during his last stint away so she made a silent prayer to anyone who would let him come back one day. Now with Moriarty taunting the public, she was had managed to send texts to Mary, John and Sherlock asking what she should do. Mary replied about 45 minutes later for her to get to 221B but she needed a moment to think about each step she had done during Jim’s autopsy. It was calming her down when Lestrade came in to the lab.

“Molly, are you alright? I have a text from John to meet at Baker Street. Do you want a lift there? Molly?”

She blinked and exited her thoughts when Greg said her name the second time. His questions took a few seconds before she could answer.

“Yes. That is nice of you, Greg. Mary told me to head over there. Is Sherlock there?”

Greg’s phone made a noise. “Well since he’s ordering me to bring you, I assume so. Bossy git. I’m a bit more intuitive than he gives me credit for.”

Molly giggled at that, breaking the tense mood that she had been in. “Let’s go then.” She gave a small smile. “If we keep him waiting he might start shooting the wall. Again.” Greg smirked at the usually mousy pathologist and they left the lab after she grabbed her coat.

Greg and Molly got to Baker Street about 15 minutes before the Holmes and Watsons. Mrs. Hudson was sitting in her kitchen to make a shaky cup of tea when they greeted her. They caught up quickly with their limited information as Greg was consoling his team members that Sherlock Holmes was on the case and to gather the demanded reports and information they had gathered on Moriarty after Sherlock’s death. Molly was just in the middle of explaining Moriarty’s autopsy when Sherlock bust though the front door and loudly clambered up the stairs to his flat with John and Mary on his heels. Mycroft peered into Mrs. Hudson’s flat to find the rest of Sherlock’s compatriots.

“DI Lestrade, Dr. Hooper? I believe my brother requests your presence upstairs even if he is so rude to not ask. Social rules, as you know, are not ‘his area.’”

Molly and Greg headed upstairs with Mrs. Hudson electing to stay behind. She called on Mycroft when he was halfway up, “Let me know when it is safe to breathe again. And Mr. Holmes? You do a better job at keeping him in the country this time around.”

“I believe England would fall without him here. It is certainly trying to.” He rolled his eyes and continued his journey to his brother’s mess of a flat.

In 221B, Sherlock was viewing all the files Lestrade had sent to him from Scotland Yard’s investigations of himself and Moriarty on an unnecessary amount of laptops that were scattered around the sitting room. Some of them were playing the ‘Did you miss me?’ clip on repeat at which, upon sight, Molly grimaced. He was extremely focused but John noticed a smirk from time to time when he viewed the notes from Anderson and Donovan. Probably thinking their idiocy was entertaining, even in a time like this.

The rest of the group grew uncomfortable at Sherlock’s disinterest in them and began to fidget. Mary sought to relieve her back and feet and settled in John’s chair and Molly scuttled off into the kitchen to make tea and John made a quick run to the loo. He knew that he was probably going bolt across London and Sherlock was terrible about allowing for necessary breaks. After his business was completed, he washed his hands and splashed a bit of water on his face to perk up. He couldn’t believe what a mood whiplash this afternoon has been. First he was saying goodbye to his best friend, (for the probable last time as Sherlock mentioned that in the car), and now he was back in his sitting room gathering information to take down a man they thought was dead. Really he had no idea how he was going to balance all of this once the baby came. He was glad that he did have Mary, the most understanding wife/assassin any man could have. She’d probably be more upset that she’d be resigned to home more often than he would when Sherlock came calling.

John reentered the living room to find Mary and Molly watching Mycroft and Sherlock argue intently like it was a crap telly show that is so bad you can’t look away from it, all the while Greg was just standing in the door frame switching looks from confusion to exhaustion at watching the brothers. John thought to stop the fight but Sherlock was in a state he hadn’t encountered before, he was downright emotional. He understood now why the others were in a state of shock instead of breaking up the fight. Sherlock being emotional was a sight to see.

“Tell me your plan, Sherlock. This is not the time to hold something I need over me for your personal selfish gain.”

“Really this is tops as one of the _least_ selfish things I have done in my life. You may be the ‘smart one’,” Sherlock gave an air of sarcasm to that last remark, “but I know how to exploit an upperhand. I need her for this case, so give that excuse to your council of pompous government officials.”

“I had to fight for you to get the deal you ended up with. Sending you to an undercover mission that would lead to your death was the best I could achieve. How do you think I can convince them to accept your return and hers?” Mycroft was losing his usual poise that could only be ruined by his obdurate little brother.

“That’s because you never fought for her. You just tossed her aside because you didn’t approve of her behaviour.” Sherlock began to glare at Mycroft, “How many times have you lied to them about missed dinners? I’ve seen the birthday and Christmas cards you’ve sent in her name—they are tacky by the way and not her taste at all. You could at least have done a better job at that.”

Curiosity got the better of Lestrade, “Who is this person you are arguing over?”

Both Holmes snapped at Lestrade and he stepped back to give the brother’s their battle ground back. The reaction put down the others’ developing inquiries they wanted to ask, but with increasing hysteria, they thought better of it.

“I was not in a position to make decisions regarding her, Sherlock. You’ve grown complacent with the power I have now. I am not magic. There were many obstacles I could not overcome then but I did try. She isn’t just important to you, Sherlock. I lost her too.” Mycroft’s voice was soft at the end. If one didn’t know him they would call it sentiment. “Besides she is half-way round the world right now in Malaysia looking for a nuclear arms dealer that has gone into hiding. It would take too long to extract her.”

“Lies.” Sherlock interjected coldly.

“What?” Mycroft’s previous frustration was coming back to break his composure.

“Only lies have detail,” Sherlock said curtly. “Where. Is. She?”

Mycroft took his umbrella and placed it dangerously close to Sherlock’s face. “She is unobtainable, Sherlock. Stop this childish behaviour now. Complete the task at hand.”

Sherlock then gave a wicked grin. “Oh she is close. She is so close you are worried right now. Did you move her nearby as you sent me away so I wouldn’t go looking for her? So I would _complete the task at hand_? Where is she? Belgium? Spain? Germany? France? That would be a nice pert action on your part. She just loathes coffee and quaint cafes. I’ll bet that you’ve set her up with the crudest handlers just to—“

“Sherlock,” Mycroft interrupted, giving pause when he was able to halt his brother from a stream of beratements. “She’s in the Highlands.”

This gave a rise to a Sherlock that John had never seen before. He was brimming with anger. “The HIGHLANDS?! She’s been in SCOTLAND?! How long, Mycroft? How long has she been in reach of us? HOW LONG?!”

“She was relocated to the UK three weeks before your incident with Mrs. Watson. As you’ll recall you were _indisposed_ at the time.” At this Sherlock threw one of the laptops in between Mary and Molly and into the fireplace causing both of them to falter out of their trance. John and Lestrade jumped to attention, placing their hands up towards Sherlock, hoping to calm him down.

“She’s been here for months, Mycroft? Months? When were you planning on telling me this? Was she going to be our Christmas present so you can earn your forgiveness? Well, you aren’t helping your case now. If she is so near, why are you so hesitant to let her come home? What are you afraid of, Mycroft?” He was breathing heavy with each sentence. John and Greg tensed up when Sherlock’s fist clenched, afraid of him assaulting his brother with them.

“You know why. Don’t be irrational, Sherlock,” Mycroft scoffed. “Believe it or not this pains me too. I’ve been working on getting her here but orchestrating her public return has proven difficult with certain members’ memories still scorned from the past and she hasn’t been helping herself in recent years.” He sighed and leaned on his umbrella again as Sherlock continued his blazing stare at him. “But, I’m prepared now to severe ties and detonate relationships for you to get your favourite person back. Be grateful for once.”

“Oh, is this going to start a multinational war, Mycroft? One of your exiles being released and given some edge of freedom?”

“No, but it might cause something you might regret later, Sherlock. It always does.”

Sherlock was calmer now. “When will she be here?”

Mycroft took his phone and shot off a text to an unknown person and waited less than 20 seconds before he received a reply. “She will be here in four hours. I’ll have her delivered to Baker Street then. Now,” he straightened up and returned to his usual aloof state, “What is your plan, Sherlock and what are you wanting to use her for to justify your unreasonable demand?”

Mary had had enough. She had been sitting down and drinking far too much tea with a baby pressing on her bladder, making an urgent loo trip very necessary. She was a bit bolder than everyone else in the room who had clearly learned how to tip-toe around Sherlock’s moods. So she asked, “Sherlock?” he turned his eyes to her. What was in them? Exhilaration? No. Anticipation. “Sherlock, who is she? Who is so important to you, you’d fight like this?”

His fists started to clench. Remembering something that looked like it might give way to another argument. So Mycroft answered instead. “Mrs. Watson, _she_ is our sister and it seems that you will all soon have the pleasure to meet her shortly,” he said impatiently. “Now Sherlock, the plan?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank y'all for reading. I put in some effort today to put up more words than I did yesterday. Let me know how it is! I also have this on over on ff and I'll update at the same time usually.


	3. What's Her Name?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing. All rights to ACD/BBC and our overlords, Moffat and Gatiss.

Sherlock went to the computers that were playing Moriarty’s message on a loop. He continued to study them for a time. He managed to slow down the frame rate to reveal an image of the swimming pool where Moriarty held John and him at gun point, then Bart’s hospital, and then another, his gravestone. John tensed up at the sight of the black granite. “These are the only out of place frames in the message. I’ve checked using different sources of the clip and they are all consistent. Now, I plan on searching these premises for clues to whomever is putting this taunt out for us.”

“You don’t think it is him, do you? It can’t be him.” Molly had said something for the first time since sitting down and it had shook Sherlock a bit from his thought process. “Of course not. I saw the damage he did to himself, and I reread your report. Pointless really, going over it in the first place. You are my pathologist. Clearly the best in your field, I can be sure that you are able to determine a dead body from a live one. Well barring the report you did on myself, I trust that Moriarty is dead, chopped up and being used for experiments all over London.” He gave her a little smirk and it calmed her. “I know this is not Moriarty but I do want extra security over Molly, Mycroft. He overlooked her last time and I do not want to take chances that this new instigator will do the same now.”

Mycroft nodded and waved away his request that it would be done. “So you plan to run around London looking for any small clue as to find who this person is. Why do you need our sister to solve this?”

“If who is doing this, is the person I believe it is, she will be the only one who can confirm it.” Sherlock glared.

“Fine. I will be leaving now. Damage control is necessary at this time. Do you require any more demands, brother?” Mycroft’s smugness had most certainly returned to its usual levels.

“No, but I assume you will be keeping a close watch as always. You can’t seem to get over missing out on anything, _brother_. Goodbye.” Sherlock waved Mycroft away as he did to him earlier.

Mycroft’s phone buzzed and he read a message before quickly pocketing the device. “Seems that she will be coming sooner than expected. ETA in three hours, she’s quite eager to get to you and has sped up the pilots’ departure checklist in some way that impressed her handlers.” He grimaced and turned using his umbrella as a cane as he pivoted to face the door. Lestrade moved away from the frame, but before the elder Holmes stepped forward, he turned his head without looking at Sherlock. “Be sure to stay off of a gurney this time, both of you. I do not need to hear one more thing held over me for the rest of our parents’ days.” With that he strode into the hallway down the stairs and onto Baker Street where his car was awaiting for him.

Lestrade was first to speak after Mycroft’s departure. “Sherlock, if that’s your plan, I’ll be heading out to give the news to my guys. We’ll secure those areas so that they are not disturbed before you can examine them. Let me know if you need anything else.” Sherlock just nodded and grumbled some sort of agreement. Lestrade was just the tiniest bit miffed at that but he smiled all the same. “Good to have you back, mate.” Lestrade made his exit while dialing his phone on his way down the stairs.

John cleared his throat, “Sherlock, I’m going to take Mary home—“ “—No. She needs to stay near. Mycroft has the most security right here and she will be safest and out of the way at Baker Street” Sherlock briskly stated. Mary would have none of that, “Hey now, mister. Watch yourself. But John dear, the very rude man is right. I don’t need to be moving around too much even though I’d rather be running over hill and dale with you two.”

John gave her a scolding face. “Fine then, you stay here. Try and get a bit of rest from this afternoon. I know I’d like to. Is Molly to stay here as well?” John asked towards Sherlock.

“I will stay and keep Mary company.” Molly answered for herself and the two women smiled at each other. Mary added, “Oh yes. That means I can speculate with someone about this mysterious Holmes sibling no one has ever heard of.”

John remembered the amount of fury Sherlock had over this subject not moments before and was weary to ask. Curiosity might have killed the cat, but satisfaction might just bring him back. “Sherlock, you never mentioned that you had a sister. Ever. Why is that? Why are you just bringing her up now?”

Sherlock was a bit silent. He went to sit at one of the chairs at the small table in the living room, thinking about what he should say—if he could say anything without the emotions coming back up. “She was sent away by Mycroft for ‘my own good’. He’s been hiding her for over 12 years now and I’ve been trying to find a way to get her back for the past six. This is my chance to get her home.” It was a stale delivery of facts, but the others could see the twinge of sadness and rage he was holding back.

Molly felt so much empathy for Sherlock. He so clearly lost someone he cared about and he would do anything for those rare important people. She knew that this would be a difficult day for him emotionally, just as the day he fell was, so she reached over and placed her hand on his. He didn’t do anything at first, but two heartbeats later he placed his other hand over hers. Molly gave him an encouraging smile and asked gently, “What’s her name?”

“Adelaide.” It almost couldn’t be heard, so with a small clearing of his throat, he tried again with clearer voice. “My sister is named Adelaide Holmes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWDY. I am sorry for not updating and that this is short. BUT Y'ALL I HAVE A PLAN NOW. For serious. I took a bit of time to figure things out about Adelaide and y'all she's pretty cool. So sorry for not getting the story to progress much but we will have everyone's favourite: fluffy gooshy flashbacks along with some angsty ones. These Holmes children are ridiculous people. I might bump the rating up later for some violence but it should be pretty PG-13. Just for information, I'm not going to have Sherlock or anyone for that matter get into any romantic situations (I am a pretty hard core Sherlolly shipper, so I like it that Sherlock has been nicer to Molly in series 3 than he has in the past, because they are buddies now and that is totally cannon). this is more of an exploration on Sherlock and Mycroft. I hope that you are enjoying this so far I know that I will go through this and add all the missing elusive commas that are needed, and sometimes things don't transfer well from word, so I'll be editing at one point, but forgive any small mistakes. Thanks and please review! This is my first ff and I need encouragement :)


	4. Twiddling with Magnifying Lenses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock go cluing for looks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Sherlock

Molly took her free hand and patted Sherlock’s to give him a bit of comfort. “That’s a lovely name. I’m sure we’ll adore her as much as we do you.” Sherlock’s mouth twitched upwards at the thought. “You might find her more pleasing than I. She has mastered social skills far beyond myself. She’s been known to pass as a human being more than Mycroft and myself.” Mary and John chortled at Sherlock being cheeky. They all could tell that he was fighting to keep his emotions at bay, which was still shocking John that he was expressing emotion at all, much less than having such intense ones.

John broke the tension by chiming in, “So, where are we headed to first? Pool, Bart’s or your empty grave? It is empty right?” He said to Sherlock, who then looked to his pathologist. “I was not made aware of all the details of my burial.” Molly looked a bit embarrassed and flashed a bit of red as she took her hands away from him, “Well, let’s just say that Sherlock’s headstone is memorializing the remains of that Tuesday’s roast pork special.” Sherlock gaped at her, quite insulted. “You used ashes from the canteen incinerator in place of my body. It’s nice to be considered your friend.” Molly giggled, “Oi, it was trickier than you’d think, I was almost caught by that canteen worker who eyes you anytime she suspects you taking more than one pudding.”

Sherlock gave a look of absolution, “Well, as long as you suffered some…” He pulled out his mobile started shooting off text messages to his homeless network. “As to your question, John, we will go to the pool. That was the first place we encountered Moriarty as his true self. This taunt will be nothing but nostalgic.” John nodded, “Right. Mary, keep out of trouble.” He leaned down to kiss her on the cheek. “Will do, dear. I’ll keep it to one national crisis a day. Both of you come back in one piece.”

Sherlock strode across the room to put on his Belstaff and scarf, he was already back in his thoughts and did not notice John in front of him saying his name. “Sherlock! The girls asked a question. When are we returning? Your sister is due to arrive now in three hours.” Sherlock was already down the stairs with an annoyed John on his heels. Mary and Molly then heard the door to the flat open again, with the head of Sherlock poking though, “I plan on returning before Adelaide arrives. England could be taken in a week with three of you alone in a room together. And Molly?” She perked up at her name. “No jokes.” The door shut on the women and they burst into laughter. Molly stifled her laughs, “Is it terrible that the last five minutes have been the best ones I’ve had in such a long while and it’s due to a psychopath trying to terrorize the country?” Mary sighed with a smile, “Molly, if we didn’t laugh just because it was due to some lunatic trying to ruin our lives, when will we find the time?” They both smiled at her remark.

Molly took in a deep breath, “So, a Holmes sister, who could have called that?” “Pft, I could have. That haircut comes from someone who doted on him and it surely wasn’t Mycroft, but let me prepare myself before we start deducing what a sister in that family must be like. I’ve been waiting to use the loo since before Mycroft left and this kid is bouncing on my bladder like a trampoline.” Mary headed off for the toilet while Molly made arrangements for a lengthy speculatory conversation on this new bit of information about Sherlock.

Sherlock hadn’t said anything since he came down the second time from 221B. John didn’t mind it, he was far from used to his best friend shutting him out while he thought. Sherlock’s brain was probably going a thousand miles an hour, thinking about this Moriarty scare. ‘Did you miss me?’ It was ridiculous to John. Even with the man deader than a door nail, he was still finding ways to jostle his life. After the incident at Appledore, John had forgiven Sherlock for his transgression, even if it had made him a murderer, something that Sherlock had fought time and time again. John was not one to judge a killer, since he had done the same for Sherlock during their first case when Sherlock was so caught up in solving the puzzle that he was going to risk his life for the answer. Sherlock had been grateful for John’s protection of him and so the ex-solider decided to accept Sherlock’s. Really, John wasn’t upset about Sherlock’s actions, only that they lead him to being sent to the four winds as punishment. This morning, even though they had said farewell in a fashion that reflected a return trip, he could not ignore the painful probability that his friend would be gone for good.

In the past few weeks since Christmas, he had been contemplating about his life without Sherlock and it had upset a deep part of his core. He had just reconciled with Mary and he knows there will be bumpy moments ahead with a baby amplifying any problem they’ll have like any normal non-assassin couple would have. He needed Sherlock to give him a proper analysis of his life, it would be annoying at first but John would see the necessity of it in the long run. Sherlock proved himself to be the greatest friend he ever needed by making him see that his life, (albeit very unconventional) suited him and it was everything it is because he made it that way. Sherlock might be lacking in proper social manners, but he did see things John couldn’t.

John started thinking about the new facts he learned today about his friend. _Adelaide Holmes_? Well, at least it fits with the mix of Sherlock and Mycroft, he still needed to get a story from their parents as to why they blessed this earth with those names. Knowing where Sherlock came from reminded John to give a bit more patience when dealing with his unusual friend. Sherlock had hid many things about his previous activities before he met John but nothing like his family. During their early days, he thought maybe he had a difficult home with a lack of parental care, but now in retrospect, he understood the true concern Mycroft had for his brother. Upon meeting their adoring parents, it was obvious that the oddity that is Sherlock had to have come from a very loving and supportive childhood. Sherlock certainly had challenges with other children, but he had family who nurtured his idiosyncrasies along with his intelligence. Now, after finally spending time with the elder Holmes couple, he got the impression that Sherlock and Mycroft were more embarrassed that they were babied so much by their family; Mr. and Mrs. Holmes just failed to treat them the same way most people did when they reacted to encountering the usually intimidating men.

John was just getting to know Sherlock’s development into the world’s only consulting detective and this sister business was just another log on the fire of the baffling things Sherlock had thrown at him this past year. Ever since he came back, his behaviour has been noticeably different. He was needy for affection from his close friends. John was happily surprised how well he and Mary had got on. Molly says she’s noticed the same; that he has been keeping company with her with genuine companionship and not just when he wants access to the lab at Bart’s. John suspects that his time away from his friends had changed him greatly. Sherlock was trying to be a good friend to them…well ‘good’ in his own special way. Less insults from unfiltered, unwanted deductions. He appreciated the change, but he wondered what his friend went through to get to this point.

* * *

 

 

Sherlock had been thinking of the Moriarty situation since Mycroft ordered his plane to return, going through the room in his mind that had been dedicated to the network of thieves, murderers and general thugs he had taken down over the two years he was gone. He was sure of where to look, even it had grown so massive and overwhelming. He often passed by this room, always shutting the door, but it crept open during his sleep when his mind was left unsupervised and wandering.

He reached the back wall of the room where the memory was caged up. Contained securely so it wouldn’t wriggle free and make it into the other corners of his mind. The memory was ragged and struggling to breathe, it was coughing up blood and there was a large growing spot on its chest with a gaping hole was spewing scarlet _._ It managed to suck in enough air for a final, ultimate threat. _“I will have his memory be a constant fear for all of them.”_ Sherlock yelled at the remembrance and threw a chair at the cage as it sputtered out air trapped in its blood.

Sherlock screamed again, the one small window in the room caught his eye. There was a bright sunbeam passing through it, spotlighting a picture a woman that was framed on the table where the chair was. The loose end that was constantly threatening and dying in the cage had been eating at him since he had returned to London. That’s when he had an awful idea. He smiled mischievously at the one person who could help him tie that loose end off. _Yes, that would work_. She would be the key to locking this room forever. He had been waiting for something big enough, something his brother would be desperate enough to give him anything he wants and here it was.

That is when Sherlock had made the first move to his plan: extort Mycroft into giving into his demands. If he was a more empathetic man, he might have felt guilt for using this moment to get what he wants. But ever the efficient Holmes, he wanted his cake and eat it too. He truly wanted to solve this case, but this case would solve his problems too. Why not have both? He did feel a moment of shame earlier for letting his emotions get away from him when Mycroft revealed their sister’s location. It had been truly unexpected, why had she been moved months ago? He needed more data and he did need to put that away in order to keep focus on this Moriarty case. He went to his room he held for Adelaide, it was open already from this morning’s emotional events. He didn’t want to get stuck in the room for now, so he dropped the file just inside the door, the yellow sunshine that enveloped the room felt warm and he smiled before he exited to close the door. He almost closed it until it latched, but decided to keep it open a crack, letting the light stream into the hallway.

The cab stopped outside the indoor pool and Sherlock came back to the real world where John was paying the cabbie and standing on the pavement waiting for him to exit the vehicle. He straightened his scarf and popped his coat collar when he stood up from his seat. John gave him a smirk and shake of his head. “What?” Sherlock said defensively. John chuckled, “Nothing, mate. I’m just glad you’re here is all.”

They entered the pool and marched alongside the changing booths to settle at the midpoint of the water. Sherlock started scanning the room. They had renovated the last time they had been there, nothing much just a disabled ramp leading to an exit, other than that little had changed. He made his eyes focus where he first saw Moriarty in his true form. John looked that way as well and had the same thought as he fought back a chill on his back from the memory of a bomb strapped to him. There is where Sherlock saw it. A small smudge of yellow paint, just like the paint from their case with the Chinese “Circus”. Sherlock strode to the blemish and peeled back a sign asking pool-goers to refrain from doing anything halfway fun, to reveal a cypher. It was similar to what they had seen before but it wasn’t in the same language. John looked at Sherlock, “Ancient Greek? What does it say exactly though?” Sherlock was rifling though his mind but answered timely, “It’s not words. It is a cypher, but it’s using the Greek number system instead. We just have to find out what base source they are using.”

Sherlock took out his small magnifying glass to take a closer look at the paint before delving back into his brain for ideas to decoding the puzzle. He closed his eyes and started to ruminate in his thoughts about what would be the correct book to use for this code. He was striding down the hallway where he kept his thoughts on that early case with John when the light from Adelaide’s room caught the glint of his magnifying glass. It was so distracting and he didn’t know why. That’s when he found himself in her room. She was there on her bed, aged thirteen in their childhood home.

_Eight year old Sherlock was looking for his sister to play pirates in the garden like she usually did when she came home from school. He found Adelaide deep in thought staring at that book with their dog, Redbeard, laying dutifully at the foot of her bed on a thick green rug. Sherlock clambered onto the covers and plopped unceremoniously next to her, looking at boring pictures of broken vases and dusty floors. Sherlock couldn’t see why she would think it was interesting. It was nothing like the adventures that his favourite pirates did on the high seas. Adelaide gave a quick glance at the disturbance to her studies. She had been completely engrossed in her beautiful book on archaeology her father had brought home from London two days ago. It had beautiful full color pictures of famous dig sites and she was observing a few of them with a small magnifying glass she had nicked from an old chemistry set._

_Sherlock had enough of his sister ignoring him over a book so he exasperatedly asked, “Why do you like archaeology so much, Addy? It looks boring. It’s all old things from dead people,” Sherlock ended with a slight sneer and crinkle of his nose. Adelaide gave him a discontented shake of her head, but she quickly thought of a way to explain her passion to him as she usually did for the ever questioning boy. “Because, little one, it’s solving a mystery. You have to sort out what a person did thousands of years ago based only on the things they left behind. You can see what they ate, how they worked and what their family life was by just looking at ruins of their home. It’s even better when you can find the actual person’s remains. Dead people or not, they can give archeologists and anthropologist so many clues and each person tells a different story. It’s like when Inspector Morse finds murders and criminals by just looking at the things they mistakenly left behind at the crime scene.”_

_Sherlock took the magnifier from Adelaide and started twiddling with it, shutting and opening the small case. Sherlock thought about finding clues about people to deduce facts about them and concluding that it was less boring than he thought before. Adelaide continued, “And who knows, maybe one day, thousands of years from now, some future archeologist might find the remnants of Sherlock Holmes and she’ll figure out how much he loved snooping in his siblings’ rooms because none of his possessions were actually his” She gave him an affectionate nudge. Sherlock looked guilty still opening and shutting the glass. “I don’t snoop in your room. I don’t need to. You actually like me in here.” Adelaide smiled, “Well my boundaries are different and you tend to find all my things boring and dull. Mycroft’s things are the ones Mummy finds in your toy chest. You know that Myc hates having his geology collection ‘plundered’.”_

_The guilt ridden face of her little brother trudged on, “You do know that Mycroft looks for clues just like an archeologist does. Looking at dig site evidence is not too different than when he can tell when you have been in his room. You leave evidence behind and your behaviour reflects your actions.” She scolded a little and Sherlock perked up, “But I have gotten better! He hasn’t noticed the last three times I’ve been in there!” He smiled up at her, beaming at his accomplishments. “Yes, because I told you that you were tracking in dirt and leaving it all over his floor. Now, you take off your shoes before rummaging through his things. Mycroft is very smart, but you don’t have to outsmart him—you just have to be smarter than he thinks you are. He doesn’t expect you can plan ahead and take your muddy shoes off because you clearly enjoy spreading dirt and mud all around the house.” Sherlock giggled at this. “Mummy keeps telling me to take them off at the door if they are dirty. Now I can keep doing it to fool Mycroft!” She gave him a smirk and squeezed him affectionately. “Well, she would appreciate it if you did stop leaving a dirt trail everywhere you go and after a while, Myc will figure out what you’re doing. Then he’ll expect more of you and then you’ll absolutely have to stop being such a mess.”_

_Sherlock gave frown at his hands. Disappointed that his plan wouldn’t work forever. He still hadn’t stopped with the magnifying glass and Adelaide felt bad for bursting his bubble of cleverness. Mycroft was the one who usually did that, not her. “Sherlock, do you really like that magnifier?” He looked up at her with adorable eyes that she could never seem to deny anything to and he nodded. “Then why don’t you keep that. You can use it to find your own clues. Solve mysteries.” His eyes got even bigger than before, “Really, Addy? You’d let me keep it?!” “Sure, little one. I bet you would make a fine detective one day. You can start with the ‘Case of the Missing Biscuits that Mummy Only Bought Yesterday.’” Sherlock broke into a fit of giggles, “I don’t need to go looking for clues to solve that. I ate them when I was waiting for you to come play in the garden!”  Adelaide ruffled his curly hair and tickled her little brother until he couldn’t take it anymore and Redbeard started barking at their commotion. They both made large sighs and they relaxed back to their previous sitting position and their dog settled back to sleep on the rug. Adelaide leaned over and put her arm round Sherlock, letting him snuggle in and look closer at the photos with his new possession. They continued to read her archaeology book together with Sherlock asking questions on almost every page until Mummy called them down for supper._

“Sherlock?” John was calling him back from his memory. He had spent too long in his mind and all without ever looking for what he needed. Sentiment was distracting but he felt better now. He was less stressed about the case than he was before. “Yes, John?” He added a bit of false annoyance to his response. “Well, did you come up with anything in that great massive head of yours?” John shook his hand towards the curly mass of dark hair. Now Sherlock’s annoyance was less false. “Need more data. We should go the next location.” Sherlock was already heading towards the door with John irritated with another one of Sherlock’s hasty exits.

When they were in another cab heading towards Bart’s, Sherlock still had his magnifying glass in his hands. He was in a train of thought again, something more case related, when John placed his hand on Sherlock’s fidgeting ones and stopped its incessant opening and closing of the small case. “You know, you were doing that at the pool.” Sherlock looked startled. He didn’t recall the action at that moment in time. He looked down at the glass and his face softened. “Adelaide gave this to me. A long time ago when I was very young, she told me about how fascinating finding clues were.”

John was surprised at the admission, it was so personal and unlike Sherlock to reveal anything of the sort. “She was nice to you? Adelaide?” The side of Sherlock’s mouth went up a tick like he was recalling something. “She was the kindest person I ever had the honor of knowing, much less growing up with.”

The cab made it out of traffic and sped towards the hospital where Sherlock ended the life as he knew it almost three years ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's so fluffy i'm going to die! I had that cute moment written out a while ago and I thought it would be a good introduction to Adelaide. She's going to go through some stuff, obviously, but it's nice to see those two unmarred by harsh events. PLEASE let me know how you like it or if you have questions. I went though and started making the cypher for real, I might find a way to post it if it looks good enough. Sorry if Sherlock seems distracted or anything out of character. I just think that in his head he is more emotive and open than he is in his outward projection. See y'all soon!


	5. A Comforting Assassin at Bedtime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John find more clues at Bart's

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Sherlock

The cab stopped in front of the hospital and Sherlock left hurriedly to the lab entrance that was located in the alleyway between buildings. He pulled out a key he had copied from a master set that he had nicked from Mike Stamford years ago when he had denied him access to a spine he wanted to experiment on. Sherlock was turning the lock when John caught up, looking annoyed. “You know, you could stop abandoning me at the end of cab rides and pay for once. My income is on the Oyster card level with Mary buying every baby thing under the sun.”

Sherlock opened the door and ignored John. He had already set to scanning the room for the cypher. “Do be a proper assistant and look for any yellow paint,” Sherlock said off-handedly. John ground his teeth at the detective, but only held back a sharp insult because of the intensity and fragility of the day. Might as well be nice to the git since his whole world keeps going topsy-turvy every three hours. But only for today. Next week, John planned to lay into him about being rude _again_.

Sherlock had been scanning the room. He was 72% sure the cypher wouldn’t be in the lab but he was delaying the trip up to the roof. The last time he had journeyed up there, he had exited unconventionally and he was afraid of what his mind would recall or whom.

_“Your friends will die if you don’t. Your only three friends in the world will die ... unless ...”_

John was rummaging, opening cupboards and pushing aside metal cabinets for any clues. He looked over at Sherlock to give him his empty report but the man was far off. It didn’t seem like he was in his mind palace. More like a memory had pushed its way to the surface and Sherlock was fighting it back. “Sherlock? I haven’t found anything here.” Sherlock wasn’t responding, then a beat later he shouted, “NO!”

John was startled but he could tell that the outburst wasn’t really for him. Sherlock noticed John’s reaction, “No, there wouldn’t be anything here, would there?”

The doctor noticed that he was avoiding the obvious, and that wasn’t like Sherlock. He lived to exploit others who did not observe the obvious. He was scared. This was difficult for him. John knew that Sherlock hadn’t been up on the roof since … well since the event. But if they were going to solve this incident, they were going to need the clue. “Roof, then?” John gave a hesitant look.

Sherlock looked away from his friend and found a spot on the wall to stare at so he could reign in his anxiety. “Yes, the roof.” John strode over to the other side of the room and put a firm hand on Sherlock’s shoulder. “Alright, let’s head up together, then.” Sherlock nodded and they made way out of the lab.

They got into the lift silently, and took the remaining journey up the caretaker’s stairs. John opened the door to the roof and stepped out of the stairwell. Sherlock hesitated for only a moment but he walked out to stand beside John. He started scanning the roof, and when he finally looked to the ledge he was startled back. He saw for a split second, James Moriarty casually listening to his phone, waiting for Sherlock to join him. John grabbed Sherlock’s arm to steady him. “Are you alright?” Sherlock blinked back to the present and nodded while turning his body away from the area that startled him. Sherlock pointed to the ledge. “There. There is the cypher.

John directed his vision towards that location and noticed the yellow paint that was behind a small crate someone had left. John expected Sherlock to instantly go over to examine the clue like before, but he wasn’t making any attempts to move. “Alright, I’ll take some pictures of it with my mobile and we’ll get off this bloody roof.” John marched to the site and kicked the box aside with his shoe to take a few pictures. Sherlock, now alone, leaned against the stair door and let his mind wander again looking for a reprieve from this situation.

_“Your friends will die…unless… but you didn’t do as I asked did you, Sherlock. You thought you would be exceptional and escape death, but you were selfish. You couldn’t even make a real sacrifice to save the only people you care about in this world. Shame, shame, shame. You’re just like everyone else, so selfish.” Moriarty was taunting him from the padded room he was kept in, but the cell door had a habit of being unsecure during slumber._

_“NO! NO!”_

_Adelaide had sprung out of bed and quickly made her way into the room that contained her little brother. He was shouting so loud, she thought there might be some altercation taking place so she had grabbed her side arm from the night stand and lead with it, only to find Sherlock, flailing about, tangling himself in his sheets in a sweat. Nightmares. This hadn’t been the first time she found him disgruntled in his sleep, but the shouting was new._

_She put the weapon down and sat on the bed, pinning his arm down as he tried to push her away. “Sherlock! Sherlock, wake up!” she said forcefully while shaking his shoulders. Sherlock opened his eyes and stopped moving. He stared up at his sister with anxiety and terror in his eyes. Adelaide stroked his forehead and caressed his hair. He calmed slightly and sat up. She instantly wrapped her arms around him and he paused for only a moment before he returned her embrace. Sherlock could feel tears welling up as the fear subsided and sadness threatened to overtake him. When he started sniffling, Adelaide pulled back to look at him and placed his hands in hers. Moonlight illuminated the room enough for her to see his eyes rimmed with red. He was a right mess._

_“Moriarty nightmare?” She asked the obvious, but Sherlock was glad to have had her say it rather than him outright admitting it. He brought his head down to hide his face, even though he knew he couldn’t really hide anything from her. She could always tell what he tried to conceal from everyone else._

_Adelaide squeezed his hands gently, “What did he say to you? You’ve been restless before, but he said something to you this time. What was it?”_

_Sherlock hated how she could deduce him so thoroughly. He hadn’t seen her in years, then she had found him in Poland a month ago. She says found, but he knew that Mycroft must have had a hand in directing her to find their younger brother. Sherlock had been dismantling the Network over the past eight months, but his behaviour was becoming erratic. Sherlock missed checkpoints and evaded any handlers that Mycroft had tasked to keeping an eye on him. He had been squatting on a street corner, wrapped up in a ratty blanket, observing the comings and goings of a few key targets, when she dropped a wrapped sandwich into his lap. “I know you don’t eat on cases, but even real vagrants manage a meal now and then.” He looked up and saw his sister for the first time in almost a decade._

_Now she was still looking at him, seeing everything he tried to hold back and he realized it was futile. Sherlock took a deep breath and exhaled, “I didn’t make a true sacrifice. I was selfish by cheating death. I was supposed to die to save them and I didn’t.” He became upset again so she took him in her arms as his tears broke through._

_“Oh, little one, why must you think the worst things about yourself?” she sighed as she combed her fingers in his damp overgrown hair. “What you did was not selfish. If anything you’ve gone beyond any martyrdom he intended you to have. You gave up your life and banished yourself away so you could continue to protect your friends. That is selfless, Sherlock. You are a true friend to those you care about and you can’t let a ghost haunt you and tell you any different. You need to believe in yourself, that you will settle all of this and go back home where you belong.”_

_Sherlock listened to her heartbeat and let the sound of it beat the words of comfort she gave him into his mind. Adelaide was his comfort from the very beginning. Anytime Mycroft had been cruel or unkind he could always depend on Addy to be there to tell him it was alright. She was his defender too, against Mycroft of course, but when her friends from school would make fun of him she would stand for him against any claim that he was weird or odd. Adelaide lost so many schoolmates and potential boyfriends because of him. Maybe she had been too protective, or maybe he had failed to grow up because she had always been the barrier between the hurtful world and himself. That’s what he told himself when she left, it’s the sentence Mycroft gave if ever he mentioned her after she departed from him. He had been so angry with her for leaving, and he had been so fearful of ever seeing him again because of that. Perhaps she wouldn’t have forgiven him for not understanding. For being so caught up in himself that he couldn’t see what was actually going on._

_He rose back up to a sitting position, “Do you think I can actually go home after this? Won’t I hurt them more when they find out? I spoke with Molly a few weeks ago and she said that John hadn’t been well.”_

_Adelaide looked for the words to best comfort him and the truth seemed like the best answer. “John misses his friend. He will move on at some point. Next year, five years, maybe? And he’ll be angry at you for what happened. He might not understand completely why you did it and God knows you will be terrible at explaining it.” Sherlock made to argue with her, but she halted him quickly. “Sherlock Holmes, you are the most empathic, selfless person I know who can’t express himself well enough for others to see that immediately. But anyway, John will want you back. Even if he’s got a wife and ten children, he’ll always want you back. You two deserve to have your friendship and to be happy. If you keep away, that’s when Moriarty finally wins.”_

_He was glad she was here with him, saying the words he refused to think. The words his subconscious was so strongly denying. He was a good person. He had good friends and he made an extreme sacrifice to repay them and protect them because they cared about him. Sherlock let his mind settle in him and he gave a final sniffle and Adelaide gave him a tissue to stop him from wiping his nose on the sheets. He felt like a child again and a feeling of shame washed over him as he_ _realised_ _his behaviour was not befitting a man of his age. Sherlock rubbed his face and he replaced his weeping eyes with a stoic expression._

_Adelaide noticed the change and took it as a sign to move on from the subject._ _“Since we’re up, why don’t I go make us some tea and you can tell me about the case you mentioned with the thief who used a poisoned blow gun. The one with the giant, ‘the Headcrusher’. It sounds like a proper bedtime story.”_

_Sherlock scoffed at her, “You are worse than John. He made a habit of making interesting cases fantastical instead of intellectual. I use science, and reason to make deductions, not by some magical, unempirical trick.” He was beginning to pout and she thought he must be feeling better. Adelaide stood up and ruffled his hair, “Which is clearly why I prefer to hear your calculative rendition than rely solely on the blog, although Dr. Watson does seem to have found a voice singing your praises.” He looked surprised at her. “You read John’s blog?” Adelaide rolled her eyes, “Obviously, and that’s not the only one I have referenced. I cannot tell you how many times proper ash identification has saved my head.” She smiled and made way for the kitchen. He heard her cheerfully humming a tune and Sherlock Holmes realised he was grateful he wasn’t alone._

John came back to the stair door to find Sherlock halfway in the shadows staring at his shoes. “Got the photos. Looks similar to the ones from the pool…Ready to go?” Sherlock popped his head up and grabbed John’s mobile to flip through the pictures. “Yes. It’s on par with the others.” Satisfied, he bounded down the stairs and John followed.

When they reached the surface street, Sherlock flagged down a cab. After John gave the address to the cemetery where Sherlock’s headstone was located, he asked, “If Moriarty isn’t doing this, then you must have some sort of idea of who is behind it.” Sherlock answered promptly, “I do. It is a person who had a more than professional relationship with Moriarty. A one-sided admiration, at least.”

John gave a puzzled look, “Who would admire Moriarty? He was insane.” Sherlock winced, “Best not say that around Molly, John. I believe that the ‘Jim from IT’ incident is one to avoid mentioning.” John did feel bad now then felt worse that Sherlock Holmes, the anti-empath was telling him how to mind someone else’s feelings. “Well, anyway, not many people would be enticed by Moriarty in his fully fledged form.”

“True, but I met such a man while I was…away. Of every person I observed, he was the only one with such an attachment to Moriarty. Sebastian Moran. He was very high in the network and one of the few people to have direct contact with Moriarty. He gave me a proper monologue about his devotion to him while in Poland. It was one of the most boring stories I had ever heard.” Sherlock was looking out the window now.

“Okay, so this man, Moran? He is behind this? Well that is a lead, then.” John added a bit of hopefulness to his last sentence. Sherlock sighed, “Yes, but therein lies the problem. He is dead. Assassinated. You know there is a formula to determine how important a person is to be considered assassinated instead of just murdered? Well, at least I have come up with one that takes in a count a number of variables and factors—“

“Wait. Wait, Sherlock. You are saying that your only lead on who the person who is doing this is dead? Is he dead like you-dead, or actually dead-dead?” John was getting a bit frustrated at the reality of his life was that people did not stay buried like normal.

“ _Dead-dead_ , John? Really? …I suppose you are justified in your concern though. I am not completely certain. I was told he had died by a trusted source who disposed of Moran themselves,” Sherlock stated.

“You have an assassin you trust? Oh god—please don’t tell me it’s Mary. I really couldn’t handle that today.” John began to run his hand on top of his head.

“No. Believe it or not, not every assassin I know is your wife. But Mary will be meeting her in an hour and a half when she arrives at Baker Street. They’ll probably have the most interesting teas that have ever occurred there.” Sherlock smirked at his nervous friend.

“Really? Your sister is an—blimey. I do have a type, don’t I?” John shook his head, trying to believe that this is all real. Assassins, lady assassins just coming out of the woodwork. He chuckled and thought to himself, _well, at least they broke that glass ceiling._ John almost told that to Sherlock but held back in case he didn’t understand the reference or worse, if he did and then John was berated by facts and statistics about the number of women in espionage. Even if he had though, they were approaching the drive of the cemetery and Sherlock had turned away from him, staring at the yard dotted with granite and marble memorials to the deceased looking for his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sooo I planned to explain why Adelaide ended up where she is and that didn't happen. It's a far cry from archaeology to murder for hire but that's character development. Sherlock is super OOC, sorry. He really loves his sister and she's one of those exceptions, she's a combo of parent/best friend that he can really trust. Thank you everyone who reviewed and keep letting me know how this is. I'm enjoying it and I hope you are too. See yall soon!


	6. Those Magnificent Men and their Flying Machine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All Adelaide Holmes. All the time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't own sherlock, but he's not here this chapter so there.

 

This morning Adelaide Holmes awoke in the small bedroom she had been allocated, to a light rain that pattered on the window. She had been there for months by now but the room was still neglecting any sort of décor other than a bed, wardrobe, and desk. It was fine by her. She really hadn't had the opportunity to decorate any place where she laid her head because there wasn't a point when you were on the move so often.

She had been restricted from watching any telly or receiving any news. No phones, no computers, no contact with anyone but her elder brother. She wasn't allowed to even leave the house she was more or less a captive in and it would have completely driven her up the wall if now for the weight room on the other side of the house with various exercise machines. She ran twice a day and lifted in order to not atrophy from being cooped up.

For her mental exercises, every Thursday, when one of her handlers went to the nearest village for groceries, they would return with ten to fifteen books in a package that awaited them at the small post office and were now creating a great wall of literature next to her bed. The volumes were mostly academic but she was always pleased to find a few novels in the mix. Thursday's were the best days in the house of course, groceries and books were a welcome sight and it was a lighter day that she would actually speak to the agents who were assigned here.

The two men were kind to her, they frequently asked if she needed anything to make her more comfortable. She had been told their names were 'Mark' and 'Collin' but she highly doubted those were their real names. Adelaide wasn't even being called her real name here. The agents were told she was Catherine Wilson and in a witness protection program due to an on-going investigation. Vague, but it was best to not lie too much. Too many details will unravel a false story. She mainly kept to herself, really only saying small niceties and any requests for their next shopping trip.

When she first came here, it was exciting. She was anxious for the promises that were made for her. She was going to be allowed to come home. Her real home that was denied her for so long. She missed her family, even with all the strife that might come from her return, she just wanted a break from it all. Her line of work was not what most people would consider normal…or safe. She had so many years to dwell on her homesickness and it never really went away try as she might. However, she wasn't supposed to have been here this long. This place had only been meant to hold her at the most a couple of weeks until she was moved to London to be with Sherlock. She had been excited during the week leading up to her planned move-date, only to have had it crash in around her when one of her handlers gave her a phone with Mycroft on the on the other end.

_"The move is off. Sherlock was found in a drug den this morning by John Watson. I made plans to get you to London in the morning, but he has been shot." Mycroft sounded tired and strained, "He was breaking into a very dangerous man's office and he's in surgery right now. I cannot deal with this and you being here."_

She had been heartbroken. Adelaide was mad at herself for getting her hopes up and with every call from Mycroft, all she received were excuses that continued to batter her expectations. First it was,  _"John Watson has moved back into Baker Street, it wouldn't be best for you to enter his life now"_ The most recent one from a few weeks ago:  _"Mummy is making a big fuss about Sherlock's injury, she's planning a big Christmas holiday, wouldn't want to upset her."_

So now she had been in this ruddy, cold and drafty house near in the middle of nowhere had been hard adjusting in the beginning. Adelaide realized how many freedoms she did enjoy before coming here, even though technically she had left her punishment. At least then she could keep an eye on her family. Mycroft couldn't control all the Wi-Fi in the world. She had even half-wished one night to be back in the field. Her mind required more stimulation than this, although she guessed she was faring better than what Sherlock or Mycroft would in her situation. Sherlock would end up destroying the house and Mycroft would probably develop a nervous twitch from not being in control of anything. So, Adelaide looked to find what solace she could with her state of affairs. She had been running around the world for so long, she forgot the comforts of staying put, so she concentrated on enjoying a bed she could stay in and not worry about being shot in the middle of the night.

Adelaide decided it was high time to get the day started, even if it was just exercise and reading. She rose from the bed, and eyed the most recent stack of books, deciding which ones she would tear into today. She went into her en suite and peered into the mirror to poke at the circles under her light green eyes.  _Well at least they aren't as dark anymore. Steady sleep will do that._  She grabbed a paddle brush and started brushing her hair out. It was much longer now, the russet brown waves now reaching past the top of her back. Even though middle age was creeping up, and she was becoming critical of the wrinkles that were forming on her face, she could still admire her hair. She loved the way it looked now, but hadn't had a real reason to keep it so long in ages. She usually kept it shorter because of how thick it was. Dodging bullets in Egypt and Iran was far easier without the densest hair known to man getting in the way. As the brush passed through her tresses, she remembered back when it was just at her shoulders on the morning Mycroft first called on her about coming here.

_Adelaide Holmes was…well actually, not Adelaide Holmes, not currently. Not many times in the past decade had she been even called by her birth name. For the last three months she had been Elena Palazzolo, Italian photographer of cityscapes. She was on a balcony overlooking the Sicily skyline, snapping a few pictures here and there. Most would assume that she was capturing photos of the sunrise that was peeking out from behind the buildings, but she was actually gathering evidence for a raid that would be taking place in the next month. There was a large ring of drug trafficking in the city and it ran though even the beautiful dwellings here in the city._

_Adelaide did find some enjoyment in this part of the job. In order to stay inconspicuous she preferred the 'hide-in-plain-sight' method. People tend to not be suspicious of those who choose to be visible. Her camera was not small, in fact it was a very expensive one with a huge lens that could gather detail from far distances. She sat in a lounge chair wearing a fuzzy lavender dressing gown with white slippers while sipping coffee from an oversized mug. Her short hair was a mess and anyone who spotted her would assume she had just rolled out of bed to capture the morning light. Well, she thought, I really just did roll out of bed, the no-effort look always looked best when you actually did not apply any effort. Who said that espionage required black cat-suits and balaclavas? She'd leave that for the CIA and their over-indulgence of embracing spy movies and television programmes._

_A small lorry had driven down the street she was perched above, and then it had stopped at the building she had been surveying. Adelaide put down her mug and peered into the camera sight. Two men exited the cab and began taking out large crates from the back. She snapped the shutter a few times. "Ah, buon giorno, signore. I wasn't sure you would be making it in today. Grazie." One of the men was on her list of top three targets, but he had been missing for the past week. It appeared that he had been away obtaining these items they were unloading._

_She took as many pictures as she could before the men left the building in the empty lorry. They were now someone else's problem. She was glad for this assignment. It had been many easy mornings at top a gorgeous city. 'Elena' had been allowed to take a few shopping trips throughout the district in order to mingle around suspects, buying dresses and shoes she never really intended to ever wear, but they were expensive and she was embittered and wanted to let her keeper know. He must have been noticing her frustrations because the last two assignments had been simple surveillance like this one. She guessed the incident in Poland was a bit too eventful for his taste._

_With the men gone, Adelaide packed up her camera in its case and put it on her shoulder as she gulped the last bit of lukewarm coffee from her mug. Satisfied, she went inside her flat and casually put the case on the sofa and went to grab another coffee from the kitchen. With that, she shuffled back to the sofa and took out a newspaper. It was from a Belgian paper dated months ago, and it was written in French, but it was the first one she had seen with his face on the cover. She had been tailing a woman outside the village of Foy who had been tied to a ring of embezzlers. The town wasn't the biggest in news, and she hadn't had too much access to television, so when she walked past a newsagent's, the image of her little brother wearing a ridiculous deerstalker standing outside his flat with John Watson definitely caught her eye._

_The article wasn't too informative, basically it rehashed details she already knew from speaking with Sherlock. He hadn't given away his true motivations for faking his death, nor the details of how he actually convinced the world he had jumped off a building to his peril. Sherlock was Sherlock and he would always play his cards close to his chest. Adelaide knew she shouldn't have kept the paper. It was a blinding clue that she might not be who she claimed. But she kept it anyway, reading the quotes from him, wishing that it had been printed in the original English to get the full effect from his sharp responses to the reporters badgering him at his door._

_Really, the picture was the focus of her desire to keep the paper. She noticed that he shorn his hair that had been growing unruly while he was with her in Poland. The hat perched on his head was so amusing, it made her chuckle every time she laid eyes on it. She could see how much it irritated him to be wearing it. Adelaide hadn't possessed a picture of him since before her exile. Over the past few years, she had accessed the internet from pubic web cafés and dared to read up on his adventures._

_It had become much easier to find information when he became the notorious consulting detective, and she had regrettably stumbled upon a few tumblrs that focused on more *physical* aspects of her brother than his accomplishments. Even stories in the papers were outrageous tales of criminals being brought down by the detective because of the mud on their shoes. She knew that Sherlock would have more reasons than the mud to why the man was guilty and would be more than happy than to let others know their idiocy; that his methods were far from supernatural, but reporters like to latch on to the outlandish than the science. After sorting through all noise, she had found that her favourite site was Dr. John Watson's blog. Through the small complaints that John made about Sherlock, it was evident that the doctor took care of him. It made her happy that Sherlock had found such a great friend who appreciated his passions and tolerated his oddities._

_Adelaide was still admiring the picture when she heard the front door of the flat open and close ever so quiet. Footsteps were being placed as silently as they could, but she still could make out the footfalls. She made to remove one of her handguns from the sofa cushion, but stopped when she recognized the gait of her visitor. The steps entered into the living room and stopped about five feet away from her back._

_"Good morning, Mycroft. Fancy seeing you in Italy." Adelaide calmly stated to her intruder._

_She could hear the man let out a breath that was so irritated for correctly identifying him by the sounds of his shoes hitting the floor. "You should be more careful, Adelaide. I could have been a mercenary sent to end you."_

_"Mercenaries tend to not wear such exuberant shoes and they eat less cake. Tell me how is your diet progressing?" Adelaide placed the Belgian paper between her and the arm of the sofa as she smiled ever so sweetly up at her elder brother._

_Mycroft scowled at her expression that was irritatingly identical to Sherlock's when he decided to be playful in an awful way, "Much easier to stick to when you spend six months in Serbia. Everything to eat there was repulsive."_

_Adelaide's eyes widened with a twinkle of glee, "Oh, could it be true? Mycroft Holmes, the mover and shaker of Great Britain, actually did leg work? And what pray tell, motivated you to ever do such a ghastly thing as mingling with people?"_

_A sick smile came across his face, "Extracting our little brother from a beating with a lead pipe. It wasn't the most entertaining of events to watch, but really the best Serbia can offer."_

_Mycroft's smug delivery of such a terrible thing, caused a swell of anger to make Adelaide stand to her feet, coming almost equal height to the man. "You watched your brother being beaten, and you have the audacity to label it 'entertainment'? You are a wretched man, Mycroft. He doesn't deserve you."_

_"He would be alone and dead in a frozen forest if he didn't have me watching everything he did. He has to be coddled, like he always has been. I just have to do it from a far since he dislikes me so much. I can't be the affectionate sibling, coming to hold him anytime he gets upset." Mycroft was on the edge of actually scolding her._

_Those words stung in her heart deeply, "Yes, it's always my doing, my fault, isn't it? I'm either wrong for too much attention or not enough? I'm sorry that I actually seem to have a heart, or at least had one," she spit the statement at him._

_"Sentiment is a weakness, Adelaide, but it can be useful when deployed carefully. Which leads me to what I came here for. You have a new assignment," the haughtiness that oozed from him was starting to make her ill._

_She snapped at him, "What assignment would sentiment be required in? Another where I'm someone's plaything?"_

_"No! You know that incident was not in my control." Mycroft retorted louder than necessary. "No, this is a more personal mission. Sherlock has returned to London with his life altered to what he had accumulated to before. John Watson has married and moved away from Baker Street, leaving Sherlock alone to his own devices. I fear that he will fall into old habits without the 'friends' he has required for some reason."_

_"And you wish me to do what, babysit him to make sure he doesn't end up with a needle in his arm? I didn't think you forgave me from the last time that happened 'on my watch'."_

_Mycroft winced slightly. Iceman or not, she hit the nail on the head. The man took a clearing breath, "Desperate times, as they say. You will be leaving here at the end of the week to a safe house along the northern coast of Scotland, so I suggest you find something warm to wear."_

_Adelaide was shocked. Scotland? She hadn't been back to the UK since she completed her training over a decade ago. She was under strict orders to be exclusively a foreign intelligence agent. Now the man who enforced those orders was telling her she would be back in Britain in two weeks. "What exactly is this assignment? You've been telling me that it was highly impossible for me to even enter the country and now I get a 'mission' for your personal use? How did you swing that, Mycroft? Have the powers that be forgotten about me finally?"_

_Mycroft sighed, "Many of them have moved on, making this request easier than it would have been in years prior. Many of them were against Sherlock when he was defamed, and now they feel guilty since the truth has surfaced. They have a bit of egg on their face and now is the time to ask favours."_

_"Is this a favour to you or to me, Mycroft?" Adelaide wasn't sure of where he stood on this. Mycroft had been warming up to her lately but his past treatment hardly left an amicable tone between them._

_"The way I see it, it is mutually beneficial. I have less worries with a drug free brother and you get to play dutiful big sister again," he smirked with a superior look that usually graced his face when he spoke with her._

_"So that's all you want? A babysitter he will listen to? Why not Mrs. Hudson or Molly Hooper? He spoke of them in high regard. He lets them mother him more than he allows Mummy."  
Adelaide was trying to contain the hopeful excitement that was daring to break her cool demeanor that she had adopted from her lifestyle. She wanted to leave, to go home and be with Sherlock, but the person granting her wish had been the one who denied it for so long that she was full of apprehension._

_"Sherlock too easily dismisses their concern for his well-being. It seems that Dr. Watson was a major force for Sherlock to function properly. You saw yourself what he was like after leaving him."_

_Adelaide retorted, "That was far different, Mycroft. He left everything and was left with nothing but to dismantle a madman's criminal network."_

_"Exactly my point. Sherlock has returned to his life and has coped well with the new changes in it, but this major physical and emotional distance that will occur at no real fault to anyone, will leave him feeling neglected. He will start acting out again and fall into old habits."_

_"Aren't you keeping a look out on him?" Adelaide's façade was cracking just the tiniest amount. Surely Mycroft, the knower of everything would have a tail on their little brother at all times._

_"Of course. I am the furthest away from stupidity, but you know how elusive he can be when he doesn't want to be found. Also the government doesn't give out too much time and capital on keeping eccentric detectives out of drug dens." Mycroft was distancing himself from the reasons of the heart that were the cause of him being there. She was still giving him a cold hard stare, not believing his front of being financially frugal. "Adelaide, you are the best and most qualified person to do this."_

_Adelaide gave a moment to let the rare compliment settle between them. "Fine. I will go. But this isn't for you or for me, it's for Sherlock. Understood?" She poked his chest with her index finger to drive the point home._

_"Crystal clear." Mycroft brushed her hand aside and returned to his haughty self. "I will have you collected and brought to the safe house. You will stay there until all things have been prepared for you in London. Not everyone is entirely pleased with this arrangement and strings will need to be pulled."_

_Adelaide restored her usual temperament towards her imperious brother, "Well don't put out so much effort for little old me, Mr. Holmes."_

_"It's not for you,_ Ms. Holmes _. Remember it's all for Sherlock's well-being." Mycroft putting her words back at her. "You will be briefed later with complete details, but you should know that your interaction will be limited to only Sherlock and my agents once you are in Britain. You will make contact with no one else."_

_"Are you going to tell them that I'm there? Do you trust Sherlock enough to not say anything to them?" Adelaide let a small twitch of her mouth go unchecked. She was thinking of her parents that had misconstrued ideas of her whereabouts that Mycroft had been feeding to them for years._

_"He most likely will, but I can have something put together to explain your absence and presence enough to satiate them." He turned and began leave the room._

_When he reached the front door, he heard the faintest he had ever remembered her sounding._

_"Thank you."_

_Mycroft Holmes shut the door and left Adelaide to ungracefully flop onto the sofa again. She pulled the paper that she had ended up sitting on and looked at the picture again._

_"See you soon, little one."_

Adelaide finished brushing her hair before she felt a great shudder go up her spine. It was January and even the thick jumper she had worn to sleep wasn't enough to keep out the chills. She walked over to her wardrobe and put on an extra jumper along with a thick dressing gown to cover herself up as she shuffled into the hallway on the way to the kitchen for breakfast. As she walked past the living room she heard Mark speaking on the phone. He was broad-shouldered with light strawberry-blonde hair that never dared to grow past an inch lest it be cropped again into a harsh crew cut. She tried to listen to Mark's side of the conversation, but had a terribly thick Scottish accent and she amusedly wondered if the person on the other end was even understanding anything he said. Luckily his answers where usually contained to one word or short clipped statements.

"Yes…yes…yes…yeah, we can leave here. She's up and about now….We'll be there in twenty…bye." Mark hung up the phone and called for Collin who was now coming out of the kitchen.

"What was that about?" Collin asked his collogue while munching on some toast. Adelaide had determined that, while still Scottish, Collin must have come from further south due to his much less severe accent that was still understandable through strawberry jam and butter. The man was almost as tall as Mark, but leaner. Of the two, he had spent the most time with her, even if that time was mainly picking through the books she had already read and sitting in the living room together reading.

Mark gathered some of his personal items as he talked, a mobile charger and keys to the car they had outside. "We're to be moving out, now. Catherine, go on and get dressed to leave and pack your clothes quickly. We need to go to the airfield, there's a plane waiting to take us to London. You've been called in."

Adelaide didn't need to be told twice, she hurried back to her room and put on clothes more suited for traveling than a dressing gown and pajama bottoms. She fit most of her wardrobe in a suitcase and put her heavy coat on to head out the door and into the awaiting car. She settled in the back with Collin while Mark drove down the bare road on their way to the airfield they arrived in. Collin was messing with his mobile, watching a segment of the news when an image of James Moriarty caught her attention.

"What is that about?" she casually asked Collin. He had been the gentler of the two, letting her stand outside to look at the coastline as long as she was in sight of him while Mark had been a strong stickler to the rules and regulations they were subject to. He even would go out of his way to get her items she had missed having access to being outside the country. She wondered why he was sweet to her, probably had a sister or girlfriend that she reminded him of. No. Not girlfriend. He had been holed up here for months on end and most relationships strained under that stress. Must be a sister…

Adelaide stopped deducing the man when he answered her, "It's that Moriarty fellow. This message popped up all over the south. Even was playing on billboards and broke into the news broadcasts. Right mess that is." Collin leaned over and let her see the message.  _"Did you miss me? Did you miss me?"_  Mark gave Collin a stern stare using the rear-view. They were strictly told she wasn't allowed to see any current events. Collin looked guilty and put his phone away in his pocket, but Adelaide had seen enough to be motivated to arrive in London as soon as she could.

Once they were there, the smallest of planes was waiting for them.  _Oh no, this will not do,_  Adelaide thought. She needed something much faster. She looked over and saw a small jet prepping to take off with its pilot doing a walk-around the plane.  _Well that's better._  When he made way to the cabin door, an older pilot relayed a bit of information that was delivered much more causally than it was received. The younger man gave an audible "Why?!" to the deliverer of his disturbing news and strode into the airport's main building.

Mark and Collin moved to speak with the pilot of the smaller plane about the take-off plan, and she was surprisingly left alone with the door to the pilot's seat open. She pretended to be situating her bag into the backseat of the plane when she reached over and pushed a couple of buttons and strategically pulled out wires that would cause warnings to appear until they were reset by a mechanic. This could buy her some time and if her plan didn't work out, she could easily correct the problem.  _Always have a plan 'B'._

Adelaide then walked past the men and she told Collin that she needed to use the loo before they left, he followed her, meaning to use the facilities himself and they both entered the small waiting room where a frenzied pilot wearing far too much gold braid had stomped in complaining loudly about his altered flight plan, and what looked to be his older first officer nonchalantly leaning on the counter, looking like he was ready to watch his favourite programme.

"What do you mean I have to be diverted though London?! We can easily make the trip to Monte Carlo without stopping there!"

The person at the desk defensively replied, "I told you, there is a customs check that can only be done there. There is a temporary sanction placed for the time being that we need to comply with,  _Captian._ "

That is when their own pilot came through the door with Mark not far behind carrying her case. "Looks like we aren't making it to London anytime soon. There's a problem with the sensors and I have to put it in the shop and have the boys look at it before we can take off."

_…And here is my opportunity._  In a not-too-overly dramatic fashion, Adelaide sighed loudly, "What? I've been waiting for months to leave this place and go home to London and now when I have the chance to leave, it is delayed? Isn't there any other way we could get there?" She had perked up the first officer that had been passively relaxed on the counter.

Their pilot looked sympathetically at her, "I am sorry ma'am. You could drive to the station and catch a train, but I doubt you'd be in London by nightfall."

"Well it seems that you are in luck, miss," the first officer had quickly come next to her. "I believe we will have a layover in London and could drop you fine people there." His flirting was more than obvious and Adelaide was happy her plan was going smoothly. "That is if the captain would be so gracious to let you on board."

The flustered pilot came to stand behind the first officer, "No. You know that we are not allowed to just pick up people willy-nilly and fly them to where ever they choose. There's procedures to be met!"

Adelaide decided to kick it up a gear and placed a hand on the younger pilot's forearm, "Oh, but could you, please? It really is of the utmost importance for me to get to London as soon as possible." She squeezed his arm gently and the man blushed. "Wow, you're the Capitan? I've never seen such a young pilot reach that rank before."

She found it. The man gained a bit of composure back and stood proudly, "Well, you know I am one of the youngest captains in the UK." Adelaide laid it on thicker. "Really? That is impressive. I bet you're one of the best too. You could probably wizz to London in less than two hours in that jet."

"If he didn't fly like a grandmother—," the first officer mumbled and was cut off by the young captain.

"Of course I could! I've done it loads of times!" He was sounding a bit overconfident to Adelaide's ears, but she soldiered on. "Well, do you think you could take us then? Since it wouldn't put you out that far? We're just three people, wouldn't take much room." She made sure to give him her most pathetic expressions of helplessness and the man broke.

"Well…I guess I could adjust the weight fairly easily—," he began, but was interrupted by the older, more suave pilot who offered her his arm and shoved his younger, more nervous counterpart aside.

"Welcome, welcome then!" he guided her to the back door that lead to the jet. "We will treat you very well on this flight, Miss?" He looked at her for her name, "Wilson. Catherine Wilson." The man smiled gently at her as he opened the door, "Miss Wilson, I am pleased to have had the pleasure of meeting you. My name is—," and the door slammed behind them.

Mark and Collin were left in the waiting room, not sure of what exactly just happened. The young captain looked about in the same state, but caught his senses up enough to follow his first officer, sprinting to the door. Collin gave a shrug to Mark, "She's something, isn't she? I'm impressed." He took out his mobile and updated their status to their contact, and they both exited the building to climb up the stairs into the jet's cabin. There they found one of the most entertaining sights this assignment had brought: the Capitan, the first officer and a dopy looking steward, all doting on their new charge for anything she might need. They were practically tripping over themselves competing for her attention.

"Shouldn't we be taking off soon?" Adelaide asked the pilots who were annoyingly not piloting the plane. "I hope to make it to London soon."

The captain gritted his teeth at his first officer and agreed with her, "Yes, we  _should_. Now how about we head to fight deck so that Miss Wilson can get to her destination in good time."

The older gentleman gave one last debonair look to Adelaide, "Please let me know, personally, if you have any needs during the flight—."

The captain interjected awkwardly, "Or you can ask me, personally. I mean directly. If you need anything at all, I can personally attend to it."

The steward had been confused by this exchange, but it wasn't a hard guess that this was a usual state for him, "But Skip, isn't that my job? I take care of the passengers and you fly the plane, right?"

The captain looked embarrassed for this being pointed out to the group, "Yes, you are right," and with that he headed for the flight deck with the first officer closing the door behind, muttering something quietly and the last look she had of the two was the captain gaping at his co-worker and his ears and neck flushing red.

Adelaide sat down in a seat, pleased with herself and motioned for Collin and Mark to do the same. They all fastened their seat belts and Adelaide turned to look out the window and thought about what might be planned for her in London.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I can neither confirm or deny the identity of the flight crew or the airdot-I mean airline, they fly for.
> 
> It was just a bit of fun there at the end. But I hope you are at least the tiniest bit satisfied. IT WAS THE HARDEST CHAPTER EVER. which is why i sat on it instead of putting parts of it with the lamesauce that was chapter 6.


	7. Leftovers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John go to the cemetery

The two men exited the cab and Sherlock paid for the cabbie to stay. He wasn't planning on lingering here. John looked anxiously in the direction of the place he had come to as futile questions many times over. Sherlock came alongside him and they started walking towards his plot.

It was in a very nice green space, near a tree that put a bit of shade over the black marble. Sherlock didn't start looking for clues just yet, he noticed that John was clenching his fists and had an overtly stoic look on his face. He remembered seeing John that day, begging for his friend to not be dead. It had lit a fire in Sherlock to break down the network, so that he could maybe return. He had contemplated just staying away, making Mycroft send him on covert missions, maybe even with Adelaide. There's always a bright spot in the gloom. Oh god, when did he turn into an optimist? Cold reason. That was his comfort—or it had been. Things had been annoyingly changing since he left and Sherlock didn't know whether to resist it or accept it as it came. Some of the changes were easier to accept, Mary (despite all her secrecy) was good for John and he wouldn't admit this out loud, but she was one of the most intelligent people outside of his family. She was smart enough to protect John and give him what he needs. He was glad she was the last of his string of girlfriends that trooped though Baker Street. She was defiantly the only one he actually liked. Yes, change could be positive.

John blinked to clear his mind. He had been remembering every time he had come to this spot. To seek something; answers, hope, peace? He didn't know. Those visits were filled with so much misery and confusion, and they felt lonely. His last visit though, he hadn't been alone. Mary had come with him, he could tell she understood loss (and now he got the picture that she had more experience than he previously thought). That day was the day he didn't feel alone standing at the foot of his best friend's grave. It felt like maybe the world could go on without Sherlock Holmes, his world could have gone on. He would never be completely whole, but he could fill his heart up enough to get by. Then, John had a thought bramble up to the front of his mind.

"Tuesday's pork special."

Sherlock shook out of his contemplations and took a few seconds to process what John had said. He scrunched up his face, trying to decide how to react.

"Tuesday's pork special. Bloody lunch leftovers." John turned to look at Sherlock, the man who defied death and whose memorial stood over the ashes of someone's lunch.

And after two heartbeats they both smiled and started laughing. They couldn't stop, all that pent up tension just released in laughter. It was far from an appropriate reaction while one was in a cemetery, and other visitors looked at them shamefully, but they didn't care. The friends needed that relief from the emotions from the past two years. All the unspoken hurt that they suffered because of the circumstances of their lives.

Sherlock put a hand on John's shoulder to steady himself. John wiped away some moisture that appeared during their fit. "So, Sherlock Holmes, we should look for some clues, right?"

Sherlock straightened up and righted himself, "Suppose so, I do hope that we don't have to go digging. I like the fact that my place is held by rejected meals."

"Do you think we should take it down? The stone?" John asked curiously. "I hadn't been back here since you returned, but it seems garish to have a headstone for a person who is alive."

Sherlock thought for a moment, "For all practical reasons, I should keep it. I will die eventually and it's nice to see everything laid out already. Now you just have to pop me in. No fuss there."

"Very unlike you, "no fuss", if you're anything, it is a fuss. It's still morbid though. Try and stay out of there for a long time. You have filled up your dying quota for this half-century." John pseudo-scolded.

"I'll try to live up to your demands, John." Sherlock looked away from John and his eyes landed on a brand new headstone about 70 yards away that read 'Richard Brook'. Couldn't be a coincidence. He rushed over to the gray marble and knelt to observe it. There was only the name; no dates or inscriptions. Sherlock swiveled on his knee to see the back, and there it was. The last bit of cypher in yellow paint, it was similar to the other two, Greek letters, but this time there was a set of initials at the bottom. 'SM'

John looked at the stone, "He wouldn't be buried here. Moriarty became a cadaver for dissections in classes at Bart's. I remember, about a month after, Molly was teaching a class on trauma to the human brain and his head was one of the examples. She was so shaken after, that they let her take the week off. I called up Mike to give him a piece of my mind, letting that happen." John shook his head in disapproval. "But anyway, unclaimed bodies get cremated and put into the state cemetery. This place is private."

Sherlock took a few pictures of the message, "Obviously a planted stone. Seems sentimental though, not to just paint an existing one. Someone has a respect for the dead."

"Someone? Like this Moran person? 'SM'? Those would be his initials. Seems a bit dramatic though, putting a stone up with that name." John kicked the base of the headstone with his toe.

"It's someone who wants to at least seem like Moran, from my experience he did like dramatics." Sherlock stood up and made way for the cab. John followed and gave a last glance at the stone that had troubled him so much. He made a promise to never come back until Sherlock was really in the ground. John shook the feeling off and checked his watch, "Forty-five minutes."

Sherlock had been in thought, "Hmm?" John replied, "Forty-five minutes until your sister gets to Baker Street if she's on time. Has Mycroft said anything?" Sherlock's phone chimed, "Speak of the devil and he doth appear." Sherlock gave a scowl at his brother being annoyingly present, even when he wasn't physically there. "He says the car should arrive in forty-three minutes." Sherlock pocketed his phone and opened the back of the cab.

"Should take about twenty to get to the flat." John suggested. "Nope, traffic at this time of the day? Twenty-eight and thirty-six seconds." Sherlock settled into the back of the cab with John flopping down in an exasperated way. "Twenty-eight and thirty-six seconds?! Confident cock, you are." Sherlock grinned, "221 Baker Street." The cab took off and John checked his watch as stealthily as he could.

Twenty-eight minutes and thirty-six seconds later, the cab stopped in front of Speedy's Café. "You cocky bastard," John sputtered out while opening the car door. Sherlock was so pleased with himself, he pulled out some cash and paid the cabbie himself. John gave him an irritated look laced with a bit of pride and turned to the door with Sherlock still grinning when they started up the stairs to 221B.


	8. Brother Falls, Brother Calls

Three years ago:

Adelaide had been in South Africa when she had heard the news of the fall of Sherlock Holmes. People there hadn't had much interest beyond the gory spectacle of a man dramatically falling to his death after he had been labelled as a fraud. It made her sick that they would do something so awful to a man who had helped the city so much.

Not that she would admit it to anyone, but her heart lurched when the story broke. Like a tonne of bricks that now sat on her chest. Adelaide made for her small flat she had been staying in for this mission. Once she was there, she let her emotions go. The flood of tears and sobs that leapt forth were crippling. She grieved for her little brother as sadness and guilt overtook her.

Adelaide had ended up in her bed curled up with her knees to her chest. The sobbing had finally ceased when her burner phone buzzed with a message.

_He is safe. Will make contact with details tomorrow._

It was short but it gave her a spark of hope. Sherlock wasn't dead. This was a plan, and she felt guilt for not keeping faith that he could pull something off. Why though? Why did he need the world to believe he was gone from it? Adelaide accessed her laptop and searched the recent stories about Sherlock. The defamation and slander that she read from the large news still disturbed her, but she dug further into message boards to find clues that the media usually missed. She took a small comfort in groups on the internet that went against the news media's barrage of slander to her brother's work. "I believe in Sherlock Holmes."  _So do I. What game are you playing, little brother?_

After hours at the laptop, she had gotten a text saying that she was to have a 'holiday' venture which meant developing her cover story further. With this large disruption in the Holmes family, her parents would want contact. Adelaide didn't have any friends back home, not anymore. Anyone she was close to had long forgotten her, attributing it to the usual reason of losing touch instead of her being shipped around the world on MI6s bidding. Really the only ones that did care were her parents and Sherlock. Her cover was that she participated in major archaeological digs that required her to travel constantly. It was a bit ludicrous she thought. Indiana Jones had been one of her favourite movies growing up and she felt that the cover story was a bit weak and far-fetched because of it. If her family believed the staged photos and articles and the scattering of ten minute long distance phone calls, it was because they desperately wanted to. She had always wondered why Mycroft never just said that she had died. It would have been easier. Less constantly lying about her whereabouts. It weighed on her every time she heard her dad give a shaky goodbye as she rushed him off the phone. At least the only thing good that came out of the boys ignoring their parents with a strong fervour, was that the bar was low on the Holmes parents' expectations on their children visiting them. She had been surprised and disappointed that Sherlock had bought the story too, but maybe that was because he did not care about her anymore. She had hurt him too much, so he deleted her from his mind like extraneous information.

Adelaide was still haunted by what happened to her and her brother. Mycroft had told her the situation Sherlock had ended up in had been her fault, she didn't think so entirely but the guilt still filled her heart because of it. Her heart that had already taken a beating by that point, then after the business of striking her away from her home, the sentimental organ had been blackened farther than she thought it could repair itself.

She tried to get some sleep, knowing that she'd be needing it. Tomorrow she hoped she would get an explanation from Mycroft and presumably a phone call to her mother and father. She wasn't expecting to have to speak to them until this Christmas. She didn't have a fondness for Christmas anymore. It meant lying to her parents and it reminded her of the time when she met Connor. She thought about how maybe her whole life would have changed if she had said no to him that December day. Adelaide tried not to dwell on the should-haves and could-haves but this was a bad day to fight those feelings of regret.

_About 16 or so years ago:_

_Adelaide was in her third year of her doctoral archaeological degree at Leeds University in Yorkshire when Sherlock entered as a first year student. She used to live near the centre of campus until Sherlock had decided to come to Leeds for his degree. Their parents subsidised them into a small flat on the outskirts of town to accommodate them both and gave her a Mini Cooper that was far past its prime for transport around Yorkshire. Leeds was far more car dependent than London and they wanted to make sure they would always have a way to get around._

_Mycroft had been pestering Sherlock to attend his old Uni that was near London. Adelaide suspected that it was to push him into the same programs that led to their older brother's fledgling career in the British Government. Sherlock had expressed his severe disinterest in that field and had instead applied to Leeds without telling anyone until after he had received his acceptance. It was surprising to the whole family since he gave strong negative reviews of Leeds anytime they came to visit her there. But now she realised that he was more upset that she was there and not at home._

_At first he had been excited to move in with her. Away from the lectures of Mycroft and the smothering of their mother. He had told her on the phone one night that it was getting worse with him being the only one left at home. Mummy meant well, but she had a hard time connecting with her emotionally obstinate children. Dad was better in that field, but Sherlock had entered that phase that most teenagers do when they feel the need to challenge their fathers. Boys could be so stupid, but she studied the stupidity of men throughout the ages, and at least it had proved to be great entertainment._

_She had enjoyed having him around, she made dinner for him almost every night and had great conversations about what he was learning about and how his professors had been impressed with his work. Uni was a better fit for him because he could stand out to his professors in a large class without the other students knowing. He had been labelled a show-off more than once at his small school back home._

_As the autumn deepened, Sherlock lost that thrill of being away from home and he retreated further in isolation. Adelaide felt like she had let him down in a way. The dinners got farther and farther apart when her research and duties increased. She rarely spoke at the flat if she was there, as most of her time spent in the office she had on campus. There were friends that she would hang out with from time to time, and would invite her brother along, but he would just sit quietly in a corner until she felt guilty enough to take them home before he would snap at anyone who tried to speak to him about mundane topics. Adelaide did try to get him involved with the other undergraduates by finding a student who was also in the chemistry department. Christine was taking the introductory anthropology class that Adelaide taught. The girl was a year older than Sherlock and agreed to invite and introduce him to the chemistry club that she was a member of._

_To his sister's delight, Sherlock had gotten on well with the group and to her equal surprise, she walked in to the flat to find her baby brother ferociously snogging Christine on their sofa. Adelaide thought it was fantastic how red his face turned at being caught and the girl hastily left the flat with a thin excuse. The opportunity was too grand to pass up on, and Adelaide did a little ribbing on her brother's new found activity._

_"Sooooo," Adelaide drew out the word. "You didn't expect me to come home this early did you?"_

_Sherlock looked down, still embarrassed. "Obviously."_

_She pressed on, "How long has this been happening, in general, not just on our couch?"_

_The blush deepened before he replied, "About a month." Sherlock gave a little smirk at that._

_"Wow, a month. Well, I'm just glad that you've found someone else to tolerate your personality. Most people can't stand it." As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted it. It was a total slap in the face to him and out of the ordinary for her to say such a hurtful thing. She had just been so worried and frustrated that he couldn't find happiness at university that the cynical comment just leapt from her tongue. The smile he had on before her comment disappeared completely as he whisked himself away and shut himself into his bedroom. Sherlock managed to avoid her for some time after that._

_Adelaide knew that the comment hurt, but she was unaware why it had cut so deep until a month or so later. She had found out about a week before the semester ended that Sherlock had adopted a different personality that was more pleasing when with the people from his club. He had been putting on a front in order for them to like him more, but it had cracked one night when he found Christine at a party hanging off a grisly rugby player. Jealousy ran through him and he proceeded to point out every fault she possessed in front of all her friends. That night he had come back to the flat with a very bloody nose, a parting gift from the rugby player that Christine had apparently been seeing off and on the past couple of years._

_While dabbing up his face, Adelaide tried her best not to sound like a lecturer as she explained the difference between being more of an agreeable personality from just plain lying. He had to find a way to express himself but not insult anyone who came too close. It has been his lifelong struggle and she told him that this was not a way to solve it. He managed to shrug in some sort of understanding as he sullenly headed back to his room after she hugged him for a long moment. Sherlock had been hurt physically, but all the emotional growth that he had been making toppled down after that incident._

_The past week, he had solely focused on his final examinations and took the first train home he could after his last test. Adelaide was staying a few extra days to grade term papers so she dropped Sherlock off in her beat up Mini and had to almost force him to give her a goodbye hug. He wasn't an extremely affectionate person, but she never had to fight him for an embrace before. She worried about his increasingly gloomy mood, so Adelaide called their dad to warn him of the impending dark cloud that was his son. They talked a good while and he asked her about cause his son's attitude. Sherlock would be angry with her for revealing his embarrassment, but she knew that their father would do his best to keep the boy from staying in his room the entire holiday._

_The last paper she had disappointedly read, the student had confused the Upper and Lower Kingdoms of the Egyptians. This was an introductory course and the paper was written well enough to let the error pass with only a small markdown of points, but Adelaide perked up when she saw that the paper belonged to Christine the rugby snogger. Adelaide shouldn't have marked her down so low for the mistake, but she felt a bit of glee that this final mark would just interfere with Christine getting first honours. Adelaide reminded herself to tell Sherlock if he was still low-spirited over the holiday._

_With all her papers marked, she packed up to deliver the final grades to her department head and grabbed her suitcase that was ready in the hall for her journey home. Dad had been saying that she would be getting new tyres for Christmas to replace the balding ones she had now, so she planned on taking the long drive back instead of the train. She headed down the stairs and ran to her car right before a downpour started. When she got to the department office, she looked around the back for the brolly she kept in there for just this reason. It wasn't there and she assumed that Sherlock had nicked it the last time it rained. He had a nasty habit of not bringing things back after he used them._

_Begrudgingly, she put her coat over her head and managed to keep the papers dry until she entered the building. The office was fairly empty with everyone leaving for the holiday, but she found the submission box and placed her grade sheet inside and wished the remaining people a happy Christmas. The rain hadn't relented as she dashed into the car, still warm inside from her previous journey. Adelaide turned on the ignition and it made a dreadful noise. She was weary to be taking it on a long trip home due to that, so she decided to drop it off at a garage she heard one of her friends use to have it fixed over the holiday and take a train home instead._

_The garage was past the Leeds Country Way in a rural part of town, but her friend had recommended it for the service. She was about two miles away when the car shuddered and died. Adelaide managed to coast to the side of the road with the remaining momentum. She put the car in park and rested her head against the steering wheel, "Great, I'm out in the middle of no place in the pouring rain, by myself. Good job, Addy. Myc is going to have a field day when he hears how stupid you've been," she scolded herself._

_After her small pity party, Adelaide grabbed her soaking wet coat to assess the damage. She lifted up the bonnet concluded that there wasn't anything she could do, so for the time being, she decided that she would wait out the rain before hiking to the garage for assistance. She hunkered down in the passenger seat with her feet on the dash, reading one of the textbooks for a class in the new semester, when there was a sharp rap at her driver side window. Adelaide jumped and cursed herself for letting her guard down in such a precarious situation._

_She shuffled up into the proper seating position and looked at the person who disturbed her reading. There, standing with a large black umbrella, was a young man with honey brown hair and hazel eyes that were peering into the vehicle along with a friendly face. He saw how he had startled her and gave a gentle wave to show he wanted to help her. Adelaide calmed herself quickly and cranked the driver side window down._

_"Hiya, you're having a bit of car trouble, then?" the man spoke with a Yorkshire accent and was trying to give her the least threatening demeanour to set her at ease._

_Adelaide thought about telling him that she was fine so he would leave. She knew that Mycroft would give her a thorough lecture about talking to a strange man on the side of the road. He was so bloody protective since she had gone off to university so far away from home. But the man had shifted his coat and she noticed he was wearing mechanics coveralls under it._

_Adelaide decided that he might be useful in getting her off of the side of the road. "A bit, yeah. Do you work at the garage down the road? I was heading there before this happened."_

_The man smiled, "Yeah, I do. I am heading into work and I saw you sitting here. Do you mind if I take a look?"_

_Adelaide shook her head and he lifted the bonnet to look at the engine. She laughed a little when he popped his head around the bonnet to give her an amusing look that the engine was far beyond what he expected. He came back to the open window, "You know you blew a piston? I don't know how exactly you managed that, but I can't fix it here. I can have it towed back to the garage, but it'll take a while to get the parts in for repair."_

_"That's fine, actually! I'm headed home for the holiday and I planned on dropping it off, so you can have it as long as you like!" Adelaide said a bit too eagerly for her own tastes. What was she doing?_

_"Well, it looks like we are on the same page then, can I give you a lift to the garage,…?" he was asking for her name._

_"Adelaide Holmes," she said quickly._

_"Pleasure to meet you, Adelaide. I'm Connor Burton." They stopped talking for a beat too long to avoid awkwardness. "So, can a take you to the garage, then?_

_Flustered she replied, "Oh, no actually." Conner's face made a sudden downturn and she felt bad for dashing his offer. "But, I would not mind a lift to the nearest bus stop. I'll catch a train in the morning to head home."_

_"Well then, I can radio into the garage and they can come and pick up your car," Conner said looking to the darkening sky. "You know if you want, you could catch the last one tonight if I drive you to the station now."_

_Adelaide mulled over the offer and thought it kind of him to offer to take her back into town. It would be better to leave in the morning, but she felt bad if she turned down another one of his offers to be of assistance._

_"Thank you, I think that could work nicely," she tried to give a smile to Conner and he perked up at her agreeableness and walked back to the van she now saw parked behind her car to radio his man at the garage. Looking at him in the rear-view mirror, she heard a pesky voice in her head that sounded like her older brother, "Yes, Adelaide, this is a grand idea. Get inside a strange man's van. I'll let Mummy know which ditch we find you in."_

_She shook the feeling off when Connor came back to help her with her suitcase and books. He managed to get them in his van without them getting soaked as a breakdown lorry rambled towards them. The driver exited with a grey umbrella and the two men greeted each other jovially. They discussed something about her car and Connor came back to her window._

_"Mike is going to pack everything up himself, and we can head out now. Keys?" he stuck out his hand for them and she quickly took off the Mini's key from the ring and gave it to him. "Leave it in neutral, don't need to be dragging it down the road." Adelaide gave a small giggle and rolled the window as he gave the keys to his friend. Conner came back to open her door like a gentlemen and he escorted her to the passenger side of the van._

_He sprinted to the other side to enter the cab and gave her a reassuring grin to counter the weariness on her face about the situation. "I promise, I'm not going to kidnap you or anything. But that seems like what a kidnapper would say, like that would be a good bluff, I guess," he was getting nervous about her apprehension and he quickly moved his right arm to rub the back of his neck, but instead caught his elbow on the hard metal frame, hitting his ulnar nerve. Conner winced and looked over to his passenger for some sympathy._

_Adelaide did not give any to him. The tension had been thick between them, but seeing his face scrunch up as he fought back a colourful swear did her in and she gave into a fit of giggles. Conner looked embarrassed at first, but chuckled along as well._

_Adelaide subsided her laughter enough, "Well, I don't think you're a kidnapper, you'd probably need smoother moves than that, or maybe that's your bluff," she gave a cheeky smirk. "We should get going, it's going to be dark in a couple of hours and I your friend has been staring at us. He might think we've gone mad, sitting here laughing."_

_Conner gave a chuckle and last rub to his arm and started the engine. They waved to Mike and started out on the road back to town. Adelaide felt like it was her turn to make conversation after she gave Conner such a cold presence earlier._

_"So, how long have you been working at the garage?" she asked cheerfully._

_Conner looked pleased that she was feeling better to talk with him, "I've been there about a two and a half years, now since I earned a degree in mechanical engineering but my main focus has been the business side the past year. My uncle owns five garages around Yorkshire and wants to leave it to me. All my cousins are girls and have gone off to live around the country, so he's always had me over to learn the business."_

_Adelaide was impressed, she thought he was a mechanic by his attire and the roughness of his hands. He caught her eyeing the dark grease stains on the sleeves of his jacket. "I still get my hands in a transmission from time to time, accounting books can muddle my head after a while and it's soothing to work on something you've always loved doing."_

_"I know what you mean, you sound like my little brother a bit. He likes his studies enough, but he relaxes by watching people out of windows. He enjoys deducing different things about them. I once saw him figure out what brand of tea my friend enjoyed by observing the cuffs of his shirt. He's obscenely intelligent." Adelaide said this beaming with pride._

_"Well, he sounds brilliant, I'd probably like him," Conner said kindly._

_Adelaide snorted oh so attractively, "Ha, he's an acquired taste, but I think you might stand a chance since you managed to coax me out of my car. My older brother is going to have a field day for accepting a lift from a stranger. He has unremittingly told me that I am too trusting and nice to people. Which probably tells you how friendly he comes off."_

_They both laughed at that, "Well, he's probably just concerned for you. I would be if I had a younger sister, I'm all by myself. Must be nice to have brothers."_

_"They are a handful. Having them in the same room usually leads to some disaster of an argument. Mycroft likes to boss Sherlock around and Sherlock enjoys doing the exact opposite just to spite him. It makes for great Christmas dinners." Adelaide rolled her eyes at the thought that it would probably be extra quarrelsome this year with Sherlock's attitude and she'd be stuck in the middle. Mycroft had a penchant for admonishing her coddling of Sherlock while simultaneously chiding her for not looking after him properly. She could never win with Mycroft, so she usually just refereed their petty arguments that ended in pouts and bruised pride._

_"Sounds normal, but they are called Mycroft and Sherlock? I might be a bit obstinate if I was sidled with those monikers. You got lucky with your name, Adelaide. You don't hear it much anymore. It's very pretty." Adelaide was about to blush but Connor did it for her, turning a fantastic pink._

_"Thank you, my grandmother was Adelaide. It was more popular during her time, and I haven't meet another girl with the same name until one of my friends mentioned her sister named their baby Adelaide. I suspect it'll get popular again," she noticed she was brushing off his complement and made to continue the conversation before it ended up dying in awkward silence._

_"So, where did you go to university? Were you at Leeds?" she asked._

_Conner perked up again, "No, thought about it though, being close to the garages, but my uncle went to Manchester and insisted I get my degree there. You're at Leeds, right? What are you studying?"_

_"Yes, I'm there for my doctorate in archaeology, actually." Once Adelaide began speaking about her favourite subject, she had a hard time stopping. Connor was listening intently to her ramblings, asking questions along the way. It made for actual pleasant conversation and relaxed her further. She even confessed what she did to Christine's paper after explaining what happened with Sherlock._   _She felt better about letting someone else know about what she did and he assured her that she was justified in marking down the paper on the academic merits alone._

_Their conversation had ended up being so delightful, it made the thirty minute drive in the rain go by quickly. Connor stopped in front of the train station and the precipitation ceased._

_"Here's your stop," Connor sighed and smiled nervously. Adelaide made to grab her things to take advantage of the gap in the weather when he spoke up. "Adelaide, can I have your number?" Embarrassment hit him hard when he saw her look of surprise towards his forwardness, and he started to backtrack. "I mean, a number I can reach you about your car? For when it's fixed." He made to rub his neck again and amazingly managed to hit his elbow again._

_Adelaide smiled and held back her laughter. She took out a notebook and wrote down her name and the number to the phone at home and handed it to him. "Here, this is the number to my parent's house. If my brothers answer, you're better off just hanging up and trying again later. They tend to only pick up if they think I'm expecting a call and harass whomever is trying to talk to me."_

_Connor gave a small smile, but he looked a little disappointed when she opened the door and started to walk toward the station. She hated leaving like that. He had been so nice to her and she did enjoy his company on the way here. She took a deep breath and made her decision. Leaving her case on the ground, she sprinted back to the driver side of the van and Connor rolled the window down._

_Adelaide yanked the paper she had given him and pulled a pen from her pocket to scribble more digits under the previous ones. She promptly returned the parchment to his hand. "That is the phone number to my flat here in Leeds. Call me after the holiday for coffee?" She gave him a bright encouraging smile._

_Connor lit up, "Oh my god, yes," then realising how eager he sounded, tried and failed to 'play it cool'. "Yeah, totally. Coffee sounds brilliant."_

_Adelaide smiled and made to turn around, then remembering the season, "Happy Christmas, Connor Burton."_

_Connor's face returned the stupid grin he had tried to abolish twenty seconds earlier and replied back, "Happy Christmas to you, Adelaide Holmes."_

The burner phone rang and she looked at the time.  _Four-thirty._ She answered it with a solid hello and Mycroft was on the other line.

"You've heard, I presume?" His attempt to be derisive was feeble. She could hear the weariness in his voice. He had probably been up all night sorting what needed to be sorted.

"Is he okay? How is he?" Adelaide let her worried mind leak when she asked those questions, but she really didn't care, she knew that Mycroft wouldn't have been completely worry-free during this event no matter what front he put on for everyone else.

"He's at the home of his pathologist. She is patching him up and housing him until he is able to be moved. He'll be sent off to break down the crime web that Moriarty has assembled," Mycroft let out a breath like this was what he had been setting up the past few hours.

"You need something from me, don't you? What is it? Take down the network too?"

"That would be best but he won't want help. This is now his personal vendetta and I fear that it might overtake him. You will gather intel and report directly to me. As far as the government knows, you're on assignment in deep cover in New Zealand. You won't have as much resources on this as you are used to, so be creative. Watch him but keep a distance. No interference that he could detect. Monitor. Observe."

"And if he makes a mess of things?"

"Then you'll clean them up. Don't let him become a murderer. One in the family is enough."

"Stop. Please don't right now. I just grieved for my presumably dead brother and don't need to reflect more on my sad and broken life. I want one condition though: if he starts spiralling, I get to come in. If not, his blood is on your hands." They both knew she was speaking of his drug habit. It was too painful to actually mention, it was why she is what she is.

Mycroft paused before he agreed, "Yes. You should. I will give strict instructions if that occurs but you are only to make contact then." She could practically hear his hand covering his eyes in exhaustion.

Adelaide had refrained from asking Mycroft a question she feared to be answered, but this was a trying time for them both and she experienced the worst pain she had ever suffered a few hours before, so she was braver now.

"Does he know the truth, about me?"

There was a long empty space of time before he replied, "Yes, but not from me. I fear he has been busy for some time about that."

They stayed in silence for almost two minutes before she spoke.

"Go to sleep. You need it and you'll need it even more later. Take care of him, brother."

"You too, sister."

It was the most cordial they had been in years and when the line went dead, her heart felt the tiniest bit lighter.


	9. Rules and Regs and Reunions

Back at Baker Street, the pathologist and the assassin turned pregnant wife were contemplating and musing about what they thought Sherlock must have been like.

Mary chortled, "He must have been just a terror. Imagine all his idiosyncrasies but in a ten year old.

Molly giggled at the visual image of Sherlock as a young boy. She imagined him getting into all sorts of trouble with wayward experiments in his family's house—which she found adorable…which lead her to blushing.

Mary picked up on her newest friend's embarrassment. "Oh Molly," she rubbed Molly's forearm making the blush fade from her face, "you shouldn't go red about that, I'm sure Sherlock was a right hellion as a child."

Just then the door to the flat opened and the holy terror himself stepped in the room to defend himself, "I'll have you know that eighty percent of Holmes' found me to be adorable as a child."

Molly's blush returned with a vengeance and John followed the detective, stepping over to his wife to give her a kiss before saying, "Oh yeah, who's the hold out? Mycroft?"

It was Sherlock's turn to be a bit embarrassed. He turned away to hang up his coat and scarf, "He had little appreciation for many of my youthful antics. Many times I was caught investigating his activities and he would resort to violence against my head."

Mary and John each gave a very attractive snort of laughter while Sherlock frowned at them. When they were finished the detective looked at his watch apprehensively.

"She's due soon?" John asked kindly and Sherlock nodded sharply.

Molly piped up, "Is there anything we should know about her? I'd hate to say the wrong thing."

John quickly added one of the bits of information he learned earlier about the mysterious Holmes sister as he could see the thought on Sherlock's face that meant that he was about to say something regretful about Molly saying the wrong thing, "Yeah, apparently she's an assassin. She'll be in good company then."

Mary smiled but she was still a bit raw from the five month long strife that she and John had just patched up. She was happy that he could joke about it though. Probably his way of making the idea that his wife and mother of his child had a very interesting past more comfortable in his mind. So she gave a cheeky reply to her husband's statement, "Oh really? With an agency or is she freelance? Might ask for her services if John can't learn keep his pants in the laundry hamper."

Sherlock scowled at the couple, "She is MI6, and she tells me that those 'services' are very limited. Mycroft is usually in charge of her missions so most of her tasks are intelligence oriented. She is quite brilliant. Not as smart as I am, but she has a bit more skill in social interactions."

"Oh so she's not a pompous git?" The question came from the mouth of the pathologist as evidenced by her hand covering the offending orifice and the crimson that her face had turned, but the group could hardly believe that Molly would say such a thing. This, of course, caused the Watsons to enter into a laughing fit while Sherlock finally shut his surprised mouth and let his lips smirk at the situation.

They were interrupted by the doorbell that suspiciously sounded like it was in the refrigerator, and Sherlock opened the door with a fury and sprinted down the stairs.

* * *

The plane touched down not a minute past two hours and a triumphant, "I TOLD YOU!" burst past the closed flight deck door to be heard by the passengers. Once the plane was settled, Adelaide gently fought past the flight crew and its bumbling Capitan and onto the tarmac without having to make empty promises of keeping in touch. A black town car was ominously waiting for her with a woman who refused to look up from her phone standing next to it. Apparently, what she was tapping through on the device was far more interesting than picking up a MI6 agent.  _Good lord, Mycroft. What do you have these people doing?_

She approached the car with Mark and Collin striding ahead and behind her. The woman barely looked up at the men, "You two will be staying here to wait for another car. I have been told you will receive new assignments." Mark quickly walked off to the airport building but Collin hesitantly stepped aside, peering at Adelaide like he was worried about something.  _What is he—oh. Sentiment. Mycroft will have a field day if he knew about that._  Adelaide thought to herself.

Then the man spoke with caring eyes, "Good luck." Collin had gotten a bit attached to his charge, that was not a good condition to find yourself in within his field of work but she felt a twinge that signalled that she appreciated the genuinity of his well-wish.

Adelaide nodded, "To you as well," returning his statement. They were both going to need it. Collin gave her a last look and went to follow Mark. With her former handlers gone she returned her attention to her new one. The woman had finally tore herself away from her crack-berry and was now scanning her up and down.  _So I am worth paying attention to. I bet she has lost hours and days implementing Mycroft's plans for her. Wants to see what makes this particular agent so special._

Adelaide caught the woman's eye, then she finally spoke to her. "I am Anthea. Mr. Holmes is waiting for you in the car."

Adelaide opened the car door herself and sat down next to her eldest sibling. The door shut behind her and Anthea moved to sit in the front of the car with the driver instead of joining them in the back shortly before the car started to move.

She could most certainly say that she had seen her brother in better condition. He was composed in a fine suit and not a hair was out of place, but the worry he had in his eyes was the worst he had ever seen it. He caught her gaze and like a mask, the ice returned to his eyes. All business now and Adelaide returned the favour with her first words to him.

"So, what is the mission now? I'm in London so you must be desperate for something to be done. I am at your disposal," she gave a small flourish with her hand and Mycroft's face softened a bit. Well, it was softened with irritation and annoyance, but she broke his demeanour a fraction and was pleased.

"This mission is particularly personal, Adelaide. You will be required to present as much strength and restraint as you have ever done." Mycroft shut down the small teasing that she had flaunted.

_Personal? Mycroft doesn't let me do 'personal'. Oh god, what has happened to Sherlock? Something with that little shit of a man, Moriarty. Bastard had better not—_

Mycroft interrupted her thoughts, seeing them plainly upon her face. "I just noted that you will need restraint and looks of raw fury will give you away. Our brother is very intuitive and will see through you if you aren't careful."

"What is going on, Mycroft?"

Mycroft explained the message from this morning and that Sherlock and John Watson had been revisiting old haunts for clues. "You will be assisting Sherlock in this case." Mycroft paused like it pained him to say that.

"Why? Why now after I've been here, there and everywhere else do you now send me to the one person didn't want me to be near," Adelaide questioned while she tried holding back her frustration and anger.

He retorted, "Did I not return you to the United Kingdom for you to look after him? I wanted you here doing the work."

"Clearly not. You gave me months of feeble excuses, Mycroft. Months I was holed up in the worst part of this country and the constant stream of weak reasons for delay flowed from you. What do you want me to do in this mess you find yourself calling me down to be at the side of Sherlock?"

Mycroft cracked his composure and actually shouted, "He wants you!" Embarrassed he tried to regain himself. "He requested you and it made to hasten your return to London. You have information that he deems unique and cannot be achieved by any other means that will satisfy him. Therefore you are here and will be at Baker Street shortly."

"And you just gave into his demands? Middle-age is wearing your resilience thin." Adelaide went back to being snarky. Picking out Mycroft's flaws had been something she looked forward to when meeting him. It reminded him that he was still a human being like the rest of earth's inhabitants.

Mycroft looked down at the floorboard and said quietly, "It is in all of our best interests for this to occur."

Adelaide was deposited in front of 221 Baker Street. Mycroft had thoroughly briefed her and supplied a mobile for her to use to keep in contact with him, saying it was because Sherlock was such rubbish at keeping him in the loop. She debated whether or not she would.

Composing herself, she stepped up to the black varnished door and rang the bell. Adelaide was about to use the knocker, thinking perhaps the bell was faulty when the door opened and revealed the person she had been longing to see for so long.


	10. The Greek Interpreter

 

Adelaide was quickly yanked inside the door with the suitcase that had the few belongings that she (currently) called her own. Before she could say anything she was pulled in the best hug she had ever experienced. Sherlock's black shirt was warm but his face was still a little chilly. He must have arrived not too long before she did and just recently took off his coat. Adelaide reciprocated and placed her arms firmly around her brother's torso. She could tell he had filled out his lanky frame that was quite unhealthily thin the last time she had her arms around him. His cologne was one that instantly calmed her as she took a deep breath and inhaled his scent. It was the most wonderful things she could have ever thought to have had happened to her. He missed her and even though he found it hard to say, she felt all the love in the world coursing to her in that embrace.

Sherlock didn't break the connection until there was a creaking from upstairs followed by hurried scampering. He scowled up in the direction of the sound, but then turned back to her. Her youngest brother staring at her with those green-blue eyes she had always been envious of even when they were being used against her to get away with God knows what. The hall was dimly lit, but she could tell that he indeed looked far better than the last time they met. His hair was trimmed, and the tailored suit was a far cry from the rags he used as camouflage in the Polish streets she found him in before. Sherlock had turned a bit awkward after the big show of affection and with a thorough bout of throat clearing, he finally found his voice, "Hello."

Adelaide gazed back, "Hello," was all that she could muster out before clearing her throat as well. "How are you, then?"

He gave the quickest of twitches to his mouth that suspiciously looked like a smile, "Far better than I was this morning. I take you have spoken with Mycroft?"

"I speak with him far more than I would like. He isn't the brightest ray of sunshine," Adelaide added an eye roll for emphasis and it brought out a genuine smile to grace Sherlock's face.

To her disappointment, that happiness disappeared when a thought came to his mind. "Were you informed of the case involving Magnusson?"

Adelaide's concern was written all over her face and her response came out rapidly, "You mean the case that found you in a drug den and lead to you trying to leak government secrets to the most manipulative man to have ever graced this earth, which then lead to you shooting said evil man in the head in front of dozens of witnesses, which then finally lead to you being banished to your ultimate death?" she took a breath, "Then, yes. I was informed of the Magnusson case."

Sherlock looked down and away from her gaze, it was timid. It was quite contrary to what people would describe him. Timid and meek were not among the usual modus operandi of the great consulting detective, Sherlock Holmes. But in her exasperation, he had felt her disappointment that came from his actions. It pained her to see so much strife in his expression.

Adelaide spoke again, but more paced than before, "I was also informed about the explicit actions by Magnusson that were impressed upon those you care about. That you did that to protect them. I'm proud that you would be so honourable." This perked him up slightly. She continued, "I understand that, but the drugs, Sherlock?" she fought the twinge that came anytime she thought about her little brother in the position to be hurting so much he'd inflict harm to himself. "I heard it from Mycroft, but I want to hear it from you." Adelaide bent lower to catch his line of sight that was concentrated on her shoes. "Is that amenable to you?"

Sherlock raised his head and nodded slightly, "After all of this is done."

Putting on a smile, Adelaide moved her attention to the former location of lurkers above them, "Okay, then. Can I meet your friend now?"

Sherlock scrunched up his face and scoffed, "I don't have a friend," Sherlock then grabbed her case and started up the stairs, at the half landing he turned around with a cheeky grin, "I have  _friends_." He gave a wink and held out his free hand to her. She went up the stairs and took it.

With her hand encapsulated in his, a little bit of the weight of worry she had been carrying around for ages lifted ever so slightly as they approached the partially opened door to his flat.

* * *

The Watsons and Dr. Hooper scrambled back into the flat when they heard Sherlock and his guest make their way up the stairs. They tried to make themselves look like they hadn't just been lurking over the stairwell at the new Holmes. But really, they only did it for themselves, Sherlock would know, if he didn't already, that his rag-tag group of companions spied on him in what seemed to be a very emotional event for him.

The door opened fully and John got his first real look at Adelaide Holmes. She was tall (taller than himself), almost coming up to Sherlock's height. Her hair was lighter than Sherlock's like it had been graced by more sun than his. She had deep waves that were pulled into a loose side pony tail that went past her shoulders. She was lean, but John could see that she was strong. She was wearing clothes that didn't look like she had picked them out. The sizes were a bit off and she kept pulling at the sleeves to make them extend to her wrists. But the biggest thing that drew John in was her dark green eyes that didn't match either of her brothers. They held a glint that he had seen before in his friends and his own. This woman has seen some shit and he knew would have found her interesting even without the knowledge she was his best mate's long lost sister.

Sherlock sat the case to the side of the door and while gesturing between his sister and his friends made her introduction, "Right. This is Adelaide Holmes."

Adelaide caught John's insightful stare, no doubt that she was getting it thrice fold with Mary and Molly at his sides. She gave an icy look that struck him cold. It looked so much like Mycroft's, but unlike the elder Holmes' glare, this one rendered him silent. He was about to start kicking himself for acting like a startled buffoon, when Molly strode forward and put out her hand to the newcomer.

"Hello, my name is Molly Hooper—,"

"Sherlock's pathologist," Adelaide quickly tacked on. Instantly the ice was gone and replaced with a small grin as Adelaide grasped Molly's offered hand. "Sherlock's gone on about you. Only competent pathologist in London and the only he can completely trust. You must be some woman to get that high praise."

John was able to get himself to straights when he saw that along with Molly becoming embarrassed, Sherlock's cheeks blushed the in the slightest. He was glad for it because after releasing Molly's hand, Adelaide turned her attention to him.

With a cursorily glance, she started, "Doctor John Watson, former army Captain in Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, wounded veteran, married less than a year, and most obviously, favourite jam: rhubarb preserves."

John was used to Sherlock's ability to strip a person down, but coming from someone else was awkward, "Why is it obvious, have I got some on my shirt somewhere?"

Adelaide quickly retorted, "No, you are clearly an adrenaline junkie with your previous choice of profession and the current company you keep with my brother. What else would be more appropriate than a jam made from a poisonous plant?" He saw her eyes soften, "And I figured it had to be someone's favourite since Sherlock demanded it whenever he took to finally ingesting calories when he was abroad before."

The room returned to its awkward silence from before. Sherlock never mentioned much from his two years away. Clearly he spent some time with his sister then. John wondered if that was a reason he returned much different than he left. John was thinking of what to say when he realised that he hadn't introduced Mary to Sherlock's sister. "Adelaide, this is my wife—," now it was his turn to be interrupted and it was by the woman he was introducing.

"Mary Watson," she stated firmly. John noticed Mary had a firm protective grasp on her expanded abdomen.

Adelaide gave a strong nod at Mary and John would swear that they were having an in depth silent conversation that no one else was privy to.

Feeling uncomfortable, John moved the conversation along, "Sherlock, does Adelaide know about the new case?"

Speaking for herself, Adelaide explained, "Mycroft informed me of the video, and the clues that were hidden inside of it. Also the thorough identification and disposal of James Moriarty. He is for certain that this is not his doing. Are you, Sherlock?"

Sherlock had been drifting a bit and John could see that he was nearly into his mind palace where he clearly wanted to be, but he came out due to the primed neural pathways that were triggered by the utterance of his name. "No, it's not Moriarty. My current hypothesis is that it is someone who was very close to him."

A wash of understanding came over Adelaide's face, "That's why I'm here? You can trust that Moran was thoroughly disposed of. I did it myself, Sherlock."

Sherlock tossed his hands about, "I know, I know. But who else would want vengeance for such a person as Moriarty?"

"Did he have any relatives, friends, lovers, admirers?"

"No, I found out his origins and all of his family had passed on, he could hardly keep a friend much less a lover, which left his biggest admirer, Moran, who was disposed of by one person working alone. Which is why I needed that person here to tell me exactly what was done and if need be, someone who can make a clear identification of Moran and I needed that person to be someone I trusted. You fitted the bill, as they say."

"Who is Moran?" Mary inquired.

Sherlock answered her, "He was basically Moriarty's second hand man. He had an unhealthy attachment to his boss."

"Is there anything that was healthy about him?" Molly said to herself.

Adelaide added to Sherlock's statement, "We found him running a smuggling ring out of Bialystok, Poland. Moran had control of many other smugglers east of there. We detained him after staking him out for weeks, then he killed himself with a cyanide pill. So dramatic."

John was mulling over Sherlock's explanation of Adelaide's presence and thought it seemed feeble at best. If Sherlock had seen this person before, he would sure be able to identify him. He was Sherlock bloody Holmes. Why would he have to pull this person from obscurity to do that for him? Something wasn't adding up to him and Mary's protective behaviour wasn't helping that along.

Adelaide continued to speak, "I had shot him in the chest during our pursuit and he would have bled out anyway, but he didn't want to give away anything more."

"Did you make sure he was dead?" Sherlock asked.

"Of course I did. If the pill was fake, the exsanguination sure did him in. I pulled my bullet and cut his carotid to make sure he was gone. I had the police find him the next day. Pretty standard protocol.

Molly spoke up again,  _she's been getting braver_ , John noted mentally, "If you don't mind, what is exactly your profession that requires standard protocol of disposing people?"

Adelaide chuckled slightly, "Asks the pathologist." John caught Sherlock finding his sister's quip to also be humorous but quickly wiped his amused expression away when he was aware of John's awareness. "But in all seriousness, it's probably best you all know that I am a MI6 agent. My main tasks were covert intelligence gathering. But the mission in question was quite off the books since my partner was a dead man," she looked over at he brother. "And in any case, if this works out well, I'll be a former agent."

Sherlock perked up at that, "Former?"

"I too made a request of our brother. He is set to get me into retirement once this is finished."

"Will you stay in the country?" Sherlock asked, a gleam of what seemed to be hope flashing in his eyes.

"I do not know. It is up to the political prowess of Mycroft, but I have doubts. If the powers that be find out that I was in the country for this long already, it might put a bitter taste of his request," Adelaide sighed and appeared forlorn at the prospects of her future. "Maybe I get sent somewhere nice at least. I just hope to avoid Eastern Europe. It's not the happiest of places."

Mary was the one to ask a question that John had been wanting answered, "You didn't want to be an agent did you?" Adelaide nodded slightly, "How exactly did you end up as one, then? Why do you have so much restrictions put upon you to not even return to your home country?"

Adelaide made an exasperated sigh and looked to her brother, "Long story or short explanation that just leaves too much to the imagination and speculation?" She used her hands like scales, weighing the two options. "How about if you promise to not speculate, I will get through the short one now and long one later? Sound fair? There seems to be more pressing matters to get to."

The group agreed silently. John wasn't used to this reasonableness in a Holmes. She was a compromiser, but he could see how one might become like that being stuck in the middle of the feuding brothers. He also noticed that Mary was relaxing to Adelaide as she spoke further, she was gaining trust with his wife and it let him relax a bit himself.

"I was a PhD of archaeology student at Leeds when I met this guy. We hit it off, I did an incredibly stupid thing by not taking a position in an excavating program to stay in Yorkshire with him. I was with him for three years and I developed a bad habit of ignoring things that didn't add up. He ran a business out of his auto mechanic garage for his uncle. It turned out that his uncle was the shipping sector of a drug ring. As far as I know, Conner was only running the straight business of the garage. But the whole thing was brought down after a bad batch of cocaine was put out all over England and traced back to the garage. It wouldn't have been so terrible legal wise, but this batch ended up killing almost a dozen people. They were mostly uni students and among them were children of very, very powerful people in the government. Everyone in the ring was charged and set to life sentences. My association with Conner was known to the few in the business and they were looking to use anyone's name to lessen their sentence. So, I was set to face a similar fate if Mycroft hadn't intervened. He managed to get me into an MI6 program where I was restricted to foreign operations only, surveillance and mild reconnaissance. Mycroft put his own stipulations on that he would cancel everything and let me be prosecuted fully if I made contact with anyone from home. He practically disowned me and has been covering for my absence to my family." Adelaide ended her long speech by looking down, almost ashamed.

"Why would he do that? After working so hard to get you away from prison? Something else happened, didn't it?" John asked.

Sherlock spoke, "Can we discuss this later? You all agreed to that. We do have a maniac tormenting the nation and putting them in fear. I'd like to get this done with."

John sensed that he had hit on a sensitive topic.  _What would be worse than her getting caught in all that mess?_  "Right, so we have this code?" John pulled out his phone and Sherlock did the same looking over the pictures they took earlier. Mary took John's phone to see them for herself.

"Is that Greek?" she asked.

"Yes, it's a number cypher, much like the one we encountered before. I need to determine what source they would be using. It has to be something accessible and known to me since this was clearly put out for me to find." Sherlock quickly spurted out. He put his phone in his shirt pocket and flopped onto the sofa stretched out. He shut off everyone else in the room like he usually did when he entered his extensive mind of his. The group of Sherlock's associates were now left alone (mentally at least) with this new sibling of his. Molly looked like she was about to break the silence when Adelaide spoke to John.

"John, do you mind if I borrow your phone, please?"

"No. Not at all," the doctor put his phone in her awaiting hand.

"Thank you very much," Adelaide smiled genuinely, which put the man off a bit. This new Holmes had to be the most polite of the lot with sincere pleases and thank yous.

Adelaide then grabbed a notebook from the table and walked to her brother who was still in deep thought. She reached down and removed his phone from the front pocket of his shirt. John was just a little abashed about someone invading Sherlock's personal space so easily and without Sherlock even caring. Then he was further astonished when she tutted and tapped at the detective's feet to lift them up for her to sit on the far end of the sofa. Sherlock obeyed without any other reaction and the woman sat down with the phones and notebook.

John almost regretted giving Adelaide his phone because he really wanted to have evidence that this strange event actually occurred. Sherlock in his mind palace with a lady who he was comfortable enough to relax in this way. He could see Adelaide copying down the symbols and writing out their numerical meanings when she caught him staring.

"I'm more of a kinetic and tactile thinker. I don't quite have the hardware power of this one," she smiled while taking her hand and rocking Sherlock's leg when she mentioned him. Sherlock was stoic as ever, only twitching his lips as he went over his knowledge.

Mary perked up, "So gang, while he's mulling over in that brain of his, any ideas what source this cypher is using?"

Molly repeated what Sherlock had asserted earlier, "Something accessible, known to Sherlock or one of us and most likely sentimental. What would that be?"

John pondered but the smirk Adelaide was giving was the most Holmesian thing she had done since entering the flat. It was the same one Sherlock and Mycroft gave when they knew something that no one else in the room has figured out.

"You've figured it out, haven't you?" John asked unequivocally.

Adelaide looked like she got caught in an embarrassing position. "I might have an idea…but best not to ruin his fun," she said while looking down at the silently mumbling detective. "By the looks of it he's nearly there." She went back to her notes and wrote a few words down on the next page before ripping out the paper and folding it in fourths.

The tall woman then got up from the sofa and stood beside John facing the kitchen. She pulled out his shirt pocket and inserted the paper inside along with his phone. Then she gave it a quick pat and with a warning tone, waggled her finger at his face. "Now, I'm going to use the loo. I trust you, Dr. Watson that you will not peak at that until I return."

Mary gave John an eyebrow raise that disappeared into her hair line as Adelaide strode into the kitchen and glanced into the bathroom before confidently going inside and shutting the door. John gaped a bit. In the short time he had experienced Adelaide Holmes, she managed to astonish him in the littlest of ways. She was vastly different from her brothers, but John could see their similarities of intellect and passion that Sherlock brimmed with when he had a case, they were just more masked than his. She didn't hide her emotions by shutting them down and ignoring them like her younger brother, she seemed to channel them into something useful instead. John couldn't decide if this was better or worse.

He turned back to Mary and Molly who seemed to have been on the same train of thought he had been. They said nothing verbally, but their faces spoke volumes. John heard the toilet flush and simultaneously, Sherlock awoke from his mind palace and sprung to his feet.

"Got it!" Sherlock pulled one of the laptops to a spot in front of the table chair and pulled up a web page that was bookmarked on it. "Now, which one, which one?"

John walked over to stand behind Sherlock and saw that he was on his blog page. "My blog? You think he used an entry as a source?"

"Yes, but I need to figure out which one he would use." He toggled between two entries before making the decision to click on the one entitled, 'The Great Game.'

Adelaide made her way back into the room, but no one really paid her any mind as she sat back down on the sofa with the notebook and Sherlock's phone. Well, no one but Molly, she notices many things that others didn't.

"So the numbers correspond with the lines and order in the line, like before right?"

Molly saw Adelaide shake her head slightly and mouth 'Nope'. She was scrolling though Sherlock's phone slowly and writing something down next to her notes.

"No, wouldn't be an accurate way to write it out. Depending on how zoomed in or out one is, the lines will change. It most likely corresponds with sentences, then the position a word is within the sentence. John," Sherlock shoved the laptop over, "Sentence 25, word 4 and sentence 207, word 5; the numbers from the pool."

John looked incredulously at him, "Oh, this is my job now?"

Sherlock looked irritated, "It's your work. Sensational as it is, you have the most familiarity …and I plan on 'crowdsourcing' this work." He handed the remaining laptops to Mary and Molly. "92, 1 and 26, 3, for Molly, and 184, 1 and 164 and 8, for you, Mrs. Watson."

Molly opened her assignment and winced at the number of times she saw her name pop up in the entry.

Mary scrunched her nose, "Why did I get stuck with the big numbers?"

John replied to her while counting each sentence with his finger on the screen, "Well, sentence 108 is the one with two beeps. But I've been counting the 'Beep. Beep. Beep.' lines as one sentence, would that be right?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Beep, beep, beep lines? They are hardly a sentence put together than individually. In fact, most of the words in your blog are barely strung together to make coherent sentences. Drabble."

John gave Sherlock his best death glare when Adelaide spoke up from behind him.

"I quite enjoy John's blog. Keeps one en-ter-tained," she accented the syllables of the last word and made the group of people's heads turn towards the sofa. "John, you should look into publishing one day, if you can get enough new stories without having half of the facts redacted. You two need less cases that require a high government clearance to review."

Sherlock scoffed at her, "You enjoy my tellings better. They have more facts and less speculation on how I solved a case."

Adelaide took her notebook and ripped out the paper she was writing on and folded it again like she had before. She walked up to Sherlock and placed the paper and his smart phone into his pocket. "I do appreciate it when you show your work, but you hardly chronicle anything yourself. John is here for posterity. Also, he's a major factor that you have gotten more cases in the first place. He's a pretty great publicist."

John gave the biggest shit eating grin. Mary gave a great laugh at her husband's face and Sherlock mimicked John's glare from earlier and she stifled herself before moving attention to the others, "So, John? Molly? Have your words yet?"

"Yup, I think I might know what they mean too," John swivelled around to face Adelaide. "I have 'Woman' and 'Holmes,' sounds like you,  _Ms. Holmes_."

Adelaide felt the whole room stare at her, and hid the uncomfortable feeling that resulted from it.

Sherlock tented his fingers under his chin, "Interesting. Molly?"

"I have gotten 'but' and 'crying,'" Molly bit her lip looking less than confident with her answers.

The detective popped his mouth and tilted his head, "Less interesting. Mary?"

Mary sighed disappointedly, "Yeah, this is weird. 'Grabbed' and 'eyes,' no clue what that means. Got anything for us, Sherlock?"

Sherlock entered his mind place and started muttering while pacing one of the halls, " _Woman. Holmes. But. Crying. Grabbed. Eyes. Rearrange the words? No! Still nonsense and the order…the order seems important. What if they used the wrong source? No. No. No."_

With Sherlock gone into his head, John remembered the paper Adelaide had placed in his pocket and retrieved it. He unfolded it and read the words, "Corresponding sentences and word placement. Blog of Dr. John H. Watson. The Great Game."

She figured out the clue before Sherlock did and all without having to close herself off from the world. Or what if she knew what the answer would be?  _Is she working with whomever is operating this?_ John thought about how many times he had been tricked by others. But he came to the conclusion that he would trust her. Sherlock had said that he trusted her to the end and he did not give that out lightly. His thoughts were cemented when he caught her eye from across the room. She was smirking at his review of her work and he knew that she enjoyed showing off every bit just like her brother.

John just simpered at the woman, "Adelaide Holmes, you most certainly member of your family."

_Sherlock burst into one of his mind palace rooms to think, not looking as to which door it had been. In this room was Adelaide and she spoke with him in mock-scolding manner, "It's the right source. You just need to figure out what the words mean. You know you could be a tad bit more organized if you just wrote things down from time to time." He realised that he was in their flat from university, and she was dressed as she had been at that time. Hair dishevelled and in comfortable sweats like she had just come from writing her dissertation. So much younger and full of promise than the one he left in his current sitting room. "The words are clues, and you've determined that the order is important. So what do you make of the words?"_

_"Symbols? Something with personal meaning?"_

_"Really? Think simpler, brother mine." Mycroft had appeared on the sofa looking disgusted with the destination of Sherlock's mind._

_Adelaide rolled her eyes at the apparition of her elder brother, "Why is he here? And why is he right? Think less about the words' meaning and more what they are. Visualise them."_

_With that the words '_ WOMAN HOLMES BUT CRYING GRABBED EYES _' appeared in the air._

_"Now what, Addy?!" Sherlock growled._

_She looked at him encouragingly, "Well think a step ahead. What do you think the answer to all of this will be? Is it a name? An object? A location?"_

_That's when Sherlock had it, "What about all three?" Maps started overlaying his face and he actually jumped excitedly. The letters of the six words stood out and started forming new words._

WO **MA** N HO **LMES**   **BU** T C **RY** ING GR **ABB** ED  **EY** ES

**MALMESBURY ABBEY**

_He whisked up his mind-palace sister and gave her a strong hug and a kiss on the forehead, while Mycroft was repelled by the whole situation. Sherlock let go of her and she looked at him like he was missing something, "What's wrong? What did I miss?"_

_"Nothing! But you do realise that I'm in the room with you? Physically. Right this instant. Get out there!" Adelaide nudged his shoulder back. He was about to close out of his mind palace when she spoke again. "Oh, Sherlock? Check your pocket."_

With that, Sherlock was back in Baker Street again. "Malmesbury Abbey. Malmesbury Abbey." He was mumbling the words while fishing out the yellow paper from his pocket. At the sight of its content, he felt the balloon of excitement deflate.

There, neatly worked out, was the solved cypher with 'Malmesbury Abbey' written out and underlined. Sherlock looked up and scowled at his sister, who currently was trying to look the least suspicious he had ever seen her.

"You solved it already?" Sherlock actually pouted.

Adelaide shrugged, "I wanted to experience a case but not to interfere. It only took you an extra ten minutes to get there."

"Malmesbury? Isn't that in Wiltshire?" Molly asked. "It's a pretty small town of what I can remember."

John searched travel paths on the laptop in front of him. "Looks like there's a train, but you have to take a bus from Chippenham." Sherlock scrunched up his face at the idea of taking a bus. Trains he loved, but that had the option of closing off in their own car from the crowd.

Seeing his mate's disgust John scoffed, "Then get a car from your brother sent over. We can drive there in two hours." John read his watch and noted the time, "Christ, it's nearly ten. How did that happen?"

Sherlock ignored John's disbelief at the lateness of the time and turned to face his sister, "Up for a drive?"

Adelaide delivered incredulously, "To a small village in the middle of no place, in the middle of the night, where unknown dangers might lie?" she gave an upturn smile to Sherlock. "I thought you would never ask."

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I actually made the cypher work with the Great Game entry on John's Blog. I also wrote out Adelaide's notes. They should be visible here but if they aren't you can go to my tumblr "Sherlocked-in-Tejas" it's the only entry there. If you have quibbles about the letters, I used very basic info and just included the picture for kicks and giggles. Let me know how you liked this Fave, follow, comment and give kudos :)


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